


Consequences

by Fyre



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-20
Updated: 2013-04-21
Packaged: 2017-12-05 22:34:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/728653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, actions have unexpected consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was triggered by something that Adam Horowitz said on twitter: in Storybrooke, they have free will to choose their own actions. 
> 
> The thing that bothered me is that in Storybrooke, no action had a negative consequence, aside from name calling, until Regina stuck the framed-for-murder part on the end of it. I felt this should be remedied, and thus, I started writing my first Snowing fic.

It had been longer than Mary Margaret could remember.

His hand was slipping up under her skirt, and his mouth was hot on hers, and just once - just once - she wanted to feel something, even if she knew she’d regret it in the morning. Emma wouldn’t be in. Working nights.

Mary Margaret shivered as Whale’s hand cupped her backside.

For a doctor, it was no surprise he knew his way around a woman’s body.

She pressed her hands against his shoulders, pushing him back just far enough to look him in the eyes, to know he was seeing her and not thinking about Ruby or anyone else that had caught his eye on their date.

He searched her face, offering a small, crooked smile, as if he’d gone too far or as if he was hoping that he could.

She got up, and took him by the hand, leading him over to the bed. 

From the look of surprise on his face, it was the first time he’d got anywhere in a while as well, and she lifted her hands to untie his shirt. His mouth found hers again, and it wasn’t perfect and it wasn’t love or anything of the kind, but it was something.

Her blouse came undone under his fingertips, and she shivered as his hand grazed over her ribs, and he pressed her back against the bed. His lips moved down her throat, and she closed her eyes, biting her lip as he licked, nibbled and sucked on her skin. It was enough that when his hand slid under her skirt again, she opened her legs for him, and a shudder ran through her as he dragged his fingers across her panties.

God, it had been too long. Far too long.

He pulled her panties down over her thighs and she gasped out as he slid a finger against her, almost ashamed of how wet she was for him. She pulled his mouth back down on hers, fumbling with his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders, and tugging at his pants.

From the feel of things, he was about as ready as she was, and he pushed her skirt up, and her underwear the rest of the way down.

“Wait-” she panted, pushing him back, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “D-do you have anything?”

He stared at her blankly, his face flushed and his lips parted. “Oh. Uh.” He groped down in the pockets of his pants, then straightened up. She wasn’t surprised. He tore open the pack with his teeth and his sheepish grin told her he’d been prepared for anything as he slid the condom on. “Okay?”

She nodded, letting him lean down and kiss her again, arching her back and groping behind her to undo her bra. He made an appreciated sound, sliding his mouth down to suck greedily on her nipple, before returning to her mouth.

“You are so beautiful,” he groaned against her mouth.

“Don’t,” she whispered, turning her face away from the kiss. “Don’t talk. Just… just…” She couldn’t say it. It wasn’t her way, not to be crude and demanding, but she needed and wanted something and he could give it to her, and she opened her legs a little wider, and bit hard on her lip as he pushed inside her.

Mary Margaret could feel the counterpane rucking up under her and pulled him harder against her, her hands spread on his back. 

He was broader than he looked from a distance and she could feel the muscles in his back shifting beneath the skin as he pushed harder and harder against her. He was kissing her throat again, and she whimpered as he pressed just right, her legs tightening around him, her eyes squeezed tightly shut.

It had been too long for him too, and she felt him tense before she did. He fumbled with his hand between them, trying to bring her along with him, but his fingers were slipping and he was shuddering and thrusting, and Mary Margaret opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling as he finished. His hand was clumsy, and she pushed it aside, finishing the job herself with sharp, stuttering rubs of her fingertips.

Whale pulled out and rolled off her, his pants around his ankles, and lay on his back, breathing raggedly. His skin was sheened with sweat and he looked at her, one side of his mouth curving up. “That was great.”

“Yeah,” Mary Margaret said, sitting up and adjusting her clothing to cover herself as much as she could. She leaned over the edge of the bed and retrieved her underwear, crumpling it in her hand. “I’m kind of tired now.” She tried to smile. “Would you mind…?”

He gave her that same, lop-sided smile, and nodded, pushing himself up into a sitting position. “I’ll call you,” he said, leaning over and kissing her again. It felt even less alluring now, after the mess and stickiness and sweat and disappointment.

She remained sitting on the edge of the bed, her abandoned panties in a knot in her hand, even after he dressed and left, closing she door behind him. She wondered why it felt so wrong to be doing something that was nothing more than nature intended. 

She went to the bathroom, ran herself a bath, and sank herself neck deep in the water, and that was where she stayed until it got too cold to stand.

 

____________________________________________________

 

 

Mary Margaret was late.

One thing she could say about her life was that it was consistent. Nothing changed. Her cycle was exactly twenty-eight days, and every fourth Wednesday, she would stockpile on chocolate and get the hot water bottle ready.

But she was late. Only two days, but it was enough to worry her.

It was stupid.

After all, she’d used protection for that one night with Doctor Whale, and as much as she and David as stared longingly at one another across the diner, they hadn’t so much as kissed yet.

Normally, she would have been much better prepared. She’d intended to go to the pharmacy after school the day after her indiscretion, just in case, but she’d got a phone call from Emma: a frantic, sobbing phone call from the woman who was the toughest person she had ever met.

Sheriff Graham had collapsed.

She rushed to the station to find Emma trying CPR, but crying so hard that she could barely speak. She took over. She pumped at his heart. She was still doing it when the paramedics arrived, and Emma sat against the desk, staring at Graham’s unmoving body, tears pouring down her face.

Everything in the days that followed was a mess.

There was the funeral. There was watching Emma’s walls slam back into place. There was dealing with a class of scared children who had known and liked Graham and who didn’t understand death. There was watching the man she was starting to love from a distance, too afraid to move closer, in case she lost him like Emma lost Graham. Then there was the election, the campaign, and everything that went with it.

Not for the first time, the days just seemed to blur together.

And now, she was late.

Two days turned into three, then into four, then into a week, and Mary Margaret was feeling more and more anxious. Emma was starting to notice.

“What’s up?” she asked, one night over dinner. “You’ve been prodding that piece of pie around your plate for ten minutes.”

Mary Margaret flushed, setting down her fork. “It’s nothing.”

“Nothing.” Emma looked at her sceptically. “Tell that to someone who doesn’t live with you. Is this something to do with David?”

Mary Margaret laughed because she wanted to cry. “No,” she said, straightening knife and fork on the edge of her plate, her eyes filling with unwanted for tears. “God. That would be so much simpler than this.”

Emma was silent for so long that Mary Margaret was almost relieved, then she said quietly, “Mary Margaret, what’s wrong?”

Mary Margaret looked up at her. “I’m late.”

“Late for…” Emma’s words trailed off at the look on her face. “Oh. Right. Late.”

Mary Margaret shifted the knife and fork again. Her hand was shaking, and it felt more tangible and real now that the words were out in the open.

Emma leaned back in her seat. “David?”

“No!” Mary Margaret exclaimed, mortified. “We haven’t- I mean, I didn’t…”

Emma nodded. “Whale, then?”

Mary Margaret felt the tears come. “We used a condom,” she whispered. “It was meant to be safe.”

Emma rose, approaching Mary Margaret’s chair, and squeezed her shoulder. “Trust me,” she said. “Those things aren’t always reliable.” 

Mary Margaret looked up at her. “What do I do?”

Emma leaned against the edge of the table, folding her arms over her chest. “How late are you?”

“A week.”

“And that’s never happened before? It couldn’t just be stress or something?”

Mary Margaret shook her head. “I’ve never been late. Not ever.”

Emma drummed her fingers on her arm. “You have two choices, then,” she said. “You could wait it out and see if anything happens, or we can get you a test, and you can know either way.”

Mary Margaret felt light-headed. A test was the sensible option, but knowing? What if it was positive? What if she was…? She must have looked terrified, because Emma shifted and knocked her leg against Mary Margaret’s. It wasn’t a hug, but it was about as much as Emma was capable of right now.

“You don’t have to decide right away,” she said. “But if you do, I’ll be here with you.”

Mary Margaret’s eyes brimmed over and she looked at her tightly-clasped hands. “What do I do?” she asked in a small voice. “If I am?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Emma said quietly. “Right now, don’t worry. Just take some time. Figure out which way you want to play this. If you want to know, just tell me and I’ll be here when you do the test.”

She made it sound so simple, like this wasn’t going to change Mary Margaret’s whole world, one way or another.

In the end, she lasted another three days. 

Nothing else seemed important, not with the weight of ignorance hanging over her. School, work, David. It was all pushed aside by the swelling iceberg of a thought which was taking up every little bit of space in her mind. There were nightmares, already, and she knew she had to know, for good or bad. Right now, she wasn’t even sure which of those was the right response. 

She felt sick as she made her way to the right aisle of the store.

Storybrooke was a small town, and if people saw, if people knew…

She looked around guardedly, then crouched down by the right shelf, searching for the tests.

Someone rounded the end of the aisle and walked straight into her, almost knocking Mary Margaret onto her knees. She yelped, scrambling upright, a box in her hand, and froze at the sight of Kathryn Nolan.

“I’m so sorry!” Kathryn exclaimed, putting out a hand to steady her. “I didn’t see you.”

Mary Margaret flushed, hastily throwing the test into her basket and pushing a packet of Kleenex over the top of it. “I-I was just having a look at the bottom shelf,” she said. “I didn’t hear you coming.”

Kathryn glanced down, a flicker of surprise crossing her face. “You too?” she said. “There must be something in the water.”

Mary Margaret felt like the bottom had plunged out of her stomach. “E-excuse me?”

Kathryn’s cheeks flushed. “I shouldn’t say anything,” she admitted, “but just between us girls, I’m hopeful.” She nodded down at Mary Margaret’s basket. “What about you?”

Mary Margaret stared blankly at her. David. David’s wife. David’s wife who thought she might be pregnant. David’s wife. She swallowed down rising acid in her throat. It should have made things easier, but it didn’t. He wasn’t hers. He never had been hers. And yet, it felt like he had betrayed her.

“What?” she said, shaking herself.

“The test?” Kathryn prompted.

Mary Margaret flushed. If David had betrayed her, what had she done to him? They weren’t anything to one another, but she didn’t want it known that she might have ended up pregnant from a drunk one-night stand with the town lech. “Um. It’s not for me. Emma. You know Emma, right? The Sheriff?”

She hated herself the moment she said it, especially when Emma’s reputation had taken such a beating during the election. Emma was her friend, and she was using her teenage indiscretions to cover for her own. She wanted to weep from the shame.

Kathryn picked up one of the tests and set it in her own basket with a smile. “Well, I hope she gets the result she wants,” she said.

Mary Margaret forced herself to smile, hurrying away down the aisle. She almost collided with the Mayor, who offered her a quick smile.

“Miss Blanchard.”

Mary Margaret stared at her blankly, then nodded in greeting, before pushing by her. She could feel Regina’s eyes on her all the way to the counter.

 

____________________________________________

 

“Well?”

Mary Margaret opened the bathroom door. She felt numb. Numb and ill. She held out the test for Emma to look at, just in case she was reading it wrong. She wasn’t. She knew she wasn’t, but maybe, just maybe, she was. Maybe it was all a mistake. Maybe she had interpreted it the wrong way.

Emma took the test and looked at it, then looked at Mary Margaret’s face. “At least you know for sure now,” she said quietly, handing it back.

Mary Margaret nodded. It felt like she was a thousand miles away from her own body and accelerating fast. Emma must have taken her by the arm, led her to the couch, sat her down, because the next thing she was aware of was a glass of water being pressed into her hand.

“I’m pregnant,” she said quietly, as if that would make it feel more real.

It didn’t.

Emma sat down at her feet. “Yeah,” she said. “I’m not gonna ask if it was planned.”

Mary Margaret’s hands trembled so much that she had to drop the test in her lap to steady her glass. She wanted to cry and scream and throw things. She wanted to find Doctor Whale and knee him in the balls. She wanted to drink herself insensible. She wanted… not to be pregnant.

“What do I do?” she asked in a small voice.

Emma didn’t look at her. “You know the options,” she murmured. “I’m not going to treat you like a kid. You know what you can do.”

Mary Margaret forced herself to drink. The water cooled the burn at the back of her throat. She had been sick already, and she knew she had nothing left to bring up. She knew. There were always options. She could get rid of it, pretend it never happened. She could follow Emma’s lead and have it adopted when it came. 

Or, she could keep it.

She could be a mother.

She was crying, and she couldn’t say why. It could have been one reason. It could have been all of them, but she was crying, and crying hard.

All she’d ever wanted was to be happy. To fall in love with and get married to a good man, to have a nice house, and to raise their children. Being in love with a married man and pregnant from a one-night stand with another wasn’t the way her life was meant to go.

Emma knelt up by her feet and put one hand on Mary Margaret’s knee. She didn’t say anything, but even if she had, Mary Margaret knew there was nothing she could say that would make things better.

She was the one who had chosen to sleep with Whale, alcohol or no alcohol. They had used protection. That protection had failed. As much as she knew crying about it wouldn’t help, she couldn’t stop herself.

“Sleep on it,” Emma suggested finally. “You know now. You just gotta decide what you want to do about it.”

Mary Margaret nodded, wiping her face with a shaking hand. “How did you?”

Emma sat back, shrugged. “It wasn’t really a choice. What could I have given a kid? I was a kid myself. I was in juvie. I didn’t have any home or any money, and I knew there had to be somewhere out there who would give a newborn a permanent home.”

She wouldn’t have put him into care, Mary Margaret realised. She loved her child enough to make sure he got a stable home like she never had. His best shot. 

Mary Margaret got to her feet unsteadily. “Could you maybe call in sick for me tomorrow?” she asked. “I-I don’t think I’ll be ready to face school.”

Emma nodded, unfolding from the floor. “You going to be okay?”

Mary Margaret tried to smile, but it faltered. “I don’t know.”

Emma thrust her hands into her pockets, rocking on the balls of her feet. “It’s not the end of the world,” she said. “Really. You’ll be okay. You just need some time. Get your head together. Make the decisions.”

Mary Margaret nodded, lowering her eyes. She wished it was as simple as it sounded.

“I’ll sleep on it,” she said. She swallowed down hard. “Thanks, Emma.”

Emma shrugged. “I know I’d have liked to have someone around,” she said. “S’the least I can do.”

Mary Margaret wanted to hug her, to hold onto her, to cry into her shoulder, but it wasn’t Emma’s way. Emma was independent, fiercely so. She wasn’t a hugger. She wasn’t good at giving comfort, and she wasn’t at ease with it, and Mary Margaret didn’t want to bother her.

“We’ll talk tomorrow,” Emma added, reaching out and awkwardly patting Mary Margaret’s shoulder. “Rest, if you can.”

If.

That was a strong word.

“I will,” Mary Margaret replied, retreating towards her bed, holding onto her glass like a talisman. She lay in the darkness, even after Emma went upstairs, but she hardly closed her eyes for the whole night.

A baby.

She was pregnant.

She was going to have a baby.


	2. Chapter 2

She was keeping the baby.

It wasn’t ever seriously an option to get rid of it.

Mary Margaret understood why some people would, but she couldn’t, no matter how it all started, and no matter how much she had regretted that night. She believed that everything happened for a reason, and if this baby was meant to happen, she was going to be the best mother it could have.

Emma made no comment about whether it was the right or wrong decision. She just nodded and acknowledged that the decision had been made, that it was Mary Margaret’s choice, and that she would support her in it. 

All the same, she looked more than a little relieved when she said she wouldn’t be putting the child up for adoption. Maybe it was her own experiences now, her own concerns bleeding into Mary Margaret’s choices, but she looked relieved.

Mary Margaret sat on her bed, her hands on her belly. It was barely seven weeks since her disastrous encounter with Whale, and there was no sign of the changes that were to come yet, but knowing, that certainty, made all the difference.

She was scared.

Of course she was.

What woman wouldn’t be?

But the fact was solidifying in her mind: she, Mary Margaret Blanchard, was going to be a mother. She had always wanted to have children. She loved children. It was one of the reasons she had become a teacher. It was true that this wasn’t how she had planned to start a family, but if David was married and she knew she had no one else on the horizon, was it so wrong to want to have a child on her own? 

After all, even their Mayor had a child without a partner or lover or husband.

She would have to tell him, of course. Whale. He’d sent her flowers after their night together, and they had exchanged awkward looks when they ran into one another, but nothing else had happened. Maybe he was as disappointed by it as she was or maybe her lack of interest had dissuaded him. She didn’t know.

She would have to tell him, though.

The man had a right to know he would be a father. 

She took a day off school, just one, to think about the situation, and by the time Emma returned from work, she was feeling mostly calm. Mostly. There were still moments when she had to sit down on the nearest hard surface and catch her breath.

“So you really want to tell him?”

Mary Margaret was serving up their dinner. “He’ll have to know sooner or later,” she said. “I think I want it out of the way as soon as possible. Just to get it over with.”

Emma stole one of the carrots from her plate. “You could call him over tonight,” she said. “I’ll be around, and that way, you have back up.”

Mary Margaret’s legs turned to jello beneath her. “Tonight?” she echoed.

“Like pulling a band-aid off?” Emma suggested with a wan smile. “Sooner rather than later?”

Mary Margaret braced her hands against the counter. “This is one hell of a bandaid.”

“You don’t have to,” Emma reminded her. 

“No. No.” Mary Margaret smiled unsteadily. “Sooner is good. Sooner is better. The sooner he knows, the sooner…” The sooner what? The sooner he could run screaming for the hills? Or the sooner he could expect that they should get back together for the sake of their alcohol-fuelled creation? She couldn’t predict what he would do. She hardly knew him at all. “Sooner is best,” she finished lamely.

All the same, it didn’t help her appetite, though Emma watched her like a hawk until she forced down several mouthfuls. They cleared the dishes, then she sat down on the sofa to call Doctor Whale, leaving a message on his cellphone when he didn’t pick up, asking him to come over if he was free.

“He’s probably working,” she said as she hung up.

“Could be,” Emma allowed. “I’m going to jump in the bath, but if you need me, just knock on the door, okay?”

Mary Margaret nodded, smiling weakly. She couldn’t begin to imagine how she would have contemplated any of this without Emma’s help. The other woman was so capable and didn’t seem to worry about any of it. It was a façade, Mary Margaret knew, but despite Emma’s own fears about herself, there was strength there as well.

Mary Margaret rose from the couch, and set to work tidying the kitchen.

She was just finishing wiping down the surfaces when there was a knock at the door. For a moment, it felt like her heart had stopped. She took a shivering breath, then crossed the floor and opened the door.

“D-David?”

David Nolan stood on the other side of the threshold, his face creased with concern. “Are you okay?” he said. “You weren’t at the diner this morning.”

Mary Margaret’s hand leapt to her mouth. He’d noticed her in the diner. He’d noticed she wasn’t there. Oh God. It was just getting more and more complicated. “I-I need you to go, David,” she said. “I’m expecting someone.”

“But you’re all right?” he persisted, his hand against the door, stopping her from closing it. “I thought you must be sick or something.”

She wanted to laugh and cry and scream. Why did he have to make things so much more complicated, just by showing his concern for her? “Or something,” she said, pushing the door against him. “Please, David, just go. I can’t see you.”

That made him stop short. “Now?”

She shook her head, her eyes burning. “Not now,” she said, forcing herself to be calm and clear and strong. “Not ever. David, we can’t be together. If we keep seeing each other, we’ll only make things worse.”

“I don’t understand,” he said. “We’re friends.”

She laughed outright, a sharp and broken sound. “We’re not friends,” she said, her voice trembling. “We’ll never be friends, David. When I look at you, I don’t think friendship. I think all the things I know I shouldn’t.”

He pushed against the door, pushing it wider, and she knew she should push back, but she was verging on tears and she couldn’t. “Why shouldn’t you?” he demanded. “I have feelings for you and I know you have feelings for me. Why shouldn’t we be…”

“I’m pregnant.” 

It wasn’t a scream or a battlecry or defiant. It was a whisper.

That stopped him in his tracks. 

The look of shock and betrayal on his face was more than she could bear, and that was from the one of them that was married. Why should he feel betrayed? He wasn’t the one who was alone. He was the one with a wife who loved him and who was probably waiting for him with dinner on the table.

“Who’s the father?”

She wrapped her arms over her middle. “That doesn’t matter,” she said in a small voice. “I just… I can’t be with you. Not when I’m having someone else’s child.” She stepped back from the door. “I want you to leave.”

“Mary Margaret…” 

He reached for her and she shied back. “Please go.”

She could feel his eyes on her as he retreated out of the door, closing it behind him. She was shaking hard, and took three unsteady steps to collapse down into the chair by the table. The tears were flowing already and she looked up, startled, when a hand touched her shoulder.

“You okay?” Emma said. “I heard David.”

Mary Margaret shook her head. “No,” she whispered. “I’m not.”

Emma squeezed her shoulder helplessly, at a loss for anything else she could do or say. “Do you want me to call Whale? Tell him not to come tonight?”

“Please,” Mary Margaret said. She propped her elbows on the table, burying her face in her hands. 

Emma spoke quietly on the phone, then came back and dragged a chair closer. She rubbed between Mary Margaret’s shoulders comfortingly. “I’d ask if you want a drink,” she said, “but I guess that’s kinda out of the question.”

Mary Margaret almost managed to laugh. “Just when I need one the most,” she said.

Emma scooted her chair a little closer, resting her brow against Mary Margaret’s temple. “Sorry,” she said quietly. “I’m not good at this.”

“This is good,” Mary Margaret whispered. “You being here.”

“Hold onto that thought,” Emma murmured, an arm around her shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere.”

It was strange, Mary Margaret thought as she leaned against her, that Emma was the one person she felt safe being helpless with. There was something about her. Something warm and strong and she wished to God that she had some little part of that in her.

 

___________________________________________

 

A storm blew in from the sea.

It kept Emma busy for days, which - in turn - meant Mary Margaret had the perfect excuse to avoid contacting Whale again. She didn’t think she could face telling him alone, and as much as he needed to know, she was afraid of how he would react.

All the same, when the day came that Emma was free, at the time when they had invited Whale around, Mary Margaret was feeling queasy. 

“I don’t think I can do this,” she said, pacing around the kitchen. “What if he wants to be involved? What if he doesn’t?”

Emma was perched on the stool opposite her. “Which would you prefer?”

“Does it matter?” Mary Margaret said, twisting her hands together. “It’s not my choice. It’s his decision.” She wrung her hands. “I don’t know how to tell him.”

“You’ll know the right words,” Emma assured her, twisting on her stool when there was a knock at the door. “You want me to let him in?”

Mary Margaret squeezed her hands together so tightly her fingers ached. “Okay.”

Emma headed to the door, unlatching it and letting Whale in. He looked bemused at her presence, and Mary Margaret’s heart sank. Maybe he really thought it was just another encounter like their last.

“I didn’t realise we’d be having company,” he said, with a glance at Emma.

Mary Margaret took a shaky breath. “We need to talk,” she said.

“And the Sheriff’s here to watch?” He flashed a boyish grin.

“Something like that,” Emma said, arms folded.

“Please, sit down,” Mary Margaret said, motioning to the couch. 

Whale settled himself on the couch, crossing one leg over the other. “So what can I do for you ladies?” he asked. 

Mary Margaret sat down on the chair closest to the couch, lacing her hands together in her lap. “Doctor Whale,” she said.

“Please,” he said, holding up a hand, “call me Adam.” He smiled, and in another time, in another place, he might have been charming. “We’re almost friends after all.”

Almost friends.

No. 

She was no more friends with him than she could be friends with David.

“Doctor Whale,” she said again, quietly, “I know we haven’t seen much of each other since… that night.” He inclined his head and she was almost sure she saw a hopeful little grin cross his lips. She fiddled with her ring, twisting it around her finger. How did anyone tell people bad news? Surely it was better just to get it all out. She looked up, met his eyes. “I’m pregnant.”

The spark in his eye, the curve of his lips, it all melted away, and suddenly the man in front of her was a stranger, even more than he had been before, grim-faced and hard. “And who’s the father?”

If he had struck her with lightning, she could not have been more stunned.

“What?”

“Don’t think I don’t remember,” he said, rising sharply. Mary Margaret was too shocked to speak, let alone argue. “We were careful. If you’ve had an accident with someone else, you’re not pinning it on me.”

Emma stepped closer to him. “Just what are you implying, Whale?”

“I’m not implying anything,” he said curtly. “I’m just not about to take responsibility for someone else’s mistake.”

“It isn’t someone else’s,” Mary Margaret said faintly. “The condom must have torn or something. I’m pregnant and it’s yours.”

Whale looked at her like she was something laid out in a lab for him to dissect. “I think it would be better for you if you forgot this conversation ever happened,” he said. “I won’t let the town know about your indiscretions. I won’t let Mrs Nolan know who’s been taking care of her husband.”

Emma bared her teeth and stepped forward. “You son of a bitch.”

Whale shied back a step. “Don’t let your friendship blind you, Sheriff,” he said. “I’m quite sure I’m not the only… friend Miss Blanchard has had around. She didn’t exactly strike me as a blushing…”

Emma’s punch caught him square in the face, spinning him around with the force of it. He stumbled, one hand to his mouth, his lower lip burst open. “You get the hell out of that door now,” she growled. “And don’t even think of coming near her again.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he sneered. “Thank you for your diplomacy, Sheriff.”

The door slammed behind him, and Emma stood on the spot, flexing her fists and breathing hard. “I’ll kill that son of a bitch.”

“No,” Mary Margaret said, raising a hand. She felt like all the life had been drained out of her. “No, it’s all right. It’s… not what I expected, but he knows.” She pressed her other hand to her belly. “He doesn’t want to be involved. Simple as that.”

“He called you…”

“I know,” she interrupted, surprised how calm she felt. Numb, probably. Exhausted. “Let him believe it if he wants to.”

“Mary Margaret!” Emma protested.

Mary Margaret waved away the protests. “Emma, I’m tired. I… I just want things to be quiet. I don’t want to have to fight every step of the way. People are going to start talking soon enough. At least he won’t say anything.” She covered her eyes with one hand, rubbing at the closed lids. “I have a few weeks before anyone notices.”

Before the name calling, before the whispers, before the speculation.

“Yeah,” Emma said. “We have time to come up with some kind of story, if Doctor Jackass over there decides he isn’t going to play nice.”

He wouldn’t say anything, Mary Margaret knew, because it would ruin his chances with any other woman, if he couldn’t even use a condom the right way. But it didn’t make it any easier knowing what was to come. She remembered the fate that befell Ashley Boyd for the duration of her pregnancy, and that was a girl who had been in a happy relationship before the boy’s father got in the way.

She didn’t even have that.

“At least,” she said with an unsteady smile. “I haven’t got a deal with Mr Gold.”

Emma’s expression was grim. “Don’t even joke about that.”

Mary Margaret got to her feet. Her legs were shaking, but she made her way over to the kitchen. “I think,” she said, “I need something with a lot of calories.” She looked up at Emma. “Do you want to go out for dinner?”

“You up for it?” Emma asked, eyeing her.

Mary Margaret nodded. “I just need out of here for a while. And cake. I need cake.”

A smile twitched Emma’s lips up. “I’ll see what we can do,” she said, striding over and grabbing their coats off the hook. “My treat.”

Mary Margaret didn’t even try to argue.


	3. Chapter 3

The truth came out much sooner than she would have liked.

There were appointments to be made, health check-ups to be planned, and even a timetable to be laid out. Emma pointed out that at least she knew exactly when it had all happened, which gave her a head-start on some people. 

She managed a couple of weeks more with the secret nested within her. It was just before her first scan that she began to feel the differences in her body already, the flat span of her belly taking on a more noticeable curve. 

The scan had picked up a heartbeat, even if the tiny little peanut of a baby was hiding away somewhere inside her. The heartbeat seemed like it had to be a trick of the machine, a small putter of sound, and for a moment, she could almost believe that she had only imagined it.

The other signs and symptoms were less easy to ignore. 

Morning sickness had come and gone, which she was grateful for, but she had a low ache in her back that came and went with frustrating regularity, and though she fought the urge, she found herself in the pose she always considered as mother-to-be, with her hands braced against her lower back. The need to eat more often meant she was often picking at food throughout the day.

Worst of all were the dizzy spells.

They were unpredictable, and for that reason, she spent as little time out of the apartment as possible outside of work. Still, no matter how careful she was, no matter what she planned, she was doomed to ill-fortune.

That was exactly what happened when she went shopping, and came around on the floor, her head resting in David Nolan's lap. He was looking down at her with such concern that she could almost believe he was her husband, worried for his pregnant wife. 

"Are you all right?" Kathryn Nolan. She was there too, kneeling at Mary Margaret's side. There were other people too, spreading, scattering now. "You fainted."

Mary Margaret flushed, struggling up into a sitting position. "I'm fine," she insisted. "Just light-headed."

"I can give you a ride home, if you're not feeling great." David's hands were warm on her shoulders, and that warmth made her tremble. 

That was another unfortunate side effect: the urgent need to have someone to satisfy her body in whatever way they could. There was only so much that could be gained from clumsy experimentation with toys she'd always been too embarrassed to use. Sometimes, you just needed, hot, sweaty, rough, wild sex.

She flushed with shame at the thought, and stumbled to her feet. "No. It's okay. I can..." The world swam around her, and David caught her before she folded again.

"Mary Margaret, you need to be more careful," he said with soft urgency. "Especially in your condition."

Mary Margaret wished she wasn't leaning so heavily on him. She wished her world would resolve from spinning faces into a solid whole. She wished she was anywhere but where she was and anyone but who she was too. 

"Condition?" Kathryn echoed.

"Please don't," Mary Margaret whispered. 

She wanted to be home. She wanted to close the door on familiar faces. She wanted...

She wanted David to keep holding her like he was, like a husband was meant to, to want her child in a way its father didn't.

She could see the dawning understanding on Kathryn's face, and the woman caught her hand, squeezed. 

"David'll take you home," she said. "Do you have a grocery list? I'll collect what you were in for and bring it over."

"You don't need to," Mary Margaret pleaded. It would be easier if the woman was cruel, spiteful, hostile, but she was kind. She was only ever kind. 

The Nolans refused to take no for an answer, and as David half-led, half-carried her towards the door, she saw the Mayor approaching Kathryn, asking what had happened. There was suspicion in Regina's eyes, as if she suspected the flame Mary Margaret still held for David Nolan. She was Kathryn's friend. Of course she would be suspicious.

Mary Margaret couldn't remember much of the drive home, but she was conscious of every step she made with David's arm around her. It felt like it was meant to be there, and he didn't seem eager to remove it, even when they reached the door of the apartment.

"You shouldn't be doing this alone," he said finally, when she forced herself to step away from him. 

"I'm not," she said quietly, unbuttoning her coat.

"Mary Margaret, I know you're not seeing anyone," he said, closing the door behind him. 

She closed her eyes, standing numbly in the middle of the floor. "No. You're right. I'm not." She shrugged her coat off and held it between her hands. "But that's no business of yours."

He was behind her suddenly, his hands on her shoulders. "You look like you're fading away," he said. "How do you expect me to stand by when you look so unhappy?"

"How?" She turned to look up at him. "David, I've told you already this is none of your business. I'm none of your business." She shook her head. "You're married. I'm pregnant. We're none of each other's business."

"You think that's enough to stop me caring?" David said, squeezing her shoulders. "Mary Margaret, I want to help. I just don't know how. I want to see you smile again."

It was the hormones, she thought, as tears splashed down her cheeks. That was all. "Why?" she whispered, knowing she should pull back, knowing she should turn away, look down, anything but look at the earnest expression on his face.

"You know why."

She shook her head. Her throat felt like it was closing up. "David, we can't," she whispered.

"Tell me you don't want me," he said. "Tell me your feelings have changed?"

"You know they haven't," she whispered. "But you chose her. Your wife. Your Kathryn."

One hand cradled her cheek. "And what if I was wrong?" The sensation was like wildfire as his thumb brushed her cheek. "What if I want you?"

She didn't know who started the kiss. She didn't know. She just knew that suddenly, they were kissing, and that his arms were around her, like she was meant to be there, and he was holding her and he was kissing her and she was sobbing and she felt like she was home at last.

The unrequited passion that she had felt for him had been bottled up, she realised, but it had never gone away, and now, with her senses playing havoc and her body strung as tightly as a harp, all self-control snapped.

His coat joined hers on the floor, and he picked her up, her legs wrapping around her, carrying her towards the bed, but when he laid her down, it was with such gentleness, like she was precious, and that only made her want him more. 

His shirt went first, then her blouse, and it was all heat and hunger as his mouth explored her face, her neck, her body, her own hands running all over him, letting him do whatever he wanted, just basking in every little drop he was giving her. 

Then his mouth touched her belly, just where it was starting to swell, where another man had already laid the seed of a life.

"No!" She scrambled back across the bed, shaken. What had she almost done?

David had one knee on the edge of the bed, and looked startled. "Mary Margaret?"

She cupped her hands over her belly. "David, we can't! Kathryn! You have Kathryn. You have a life, a wife, a home. You don't want to be saddled with me and my baby. A baby that isn't even yours."

"But I love you."

He could have stabbed her in the heart. At least that would have been merciful.

"No," she whispered. "Get dressed. You need to leave before Kathryn comes."

She didn't look at him, not as he picked up his shirt nor as he buttoned his pants, not even as he put on his coat and headed for the door.

He stopped there, silent for a moment. "Are you going to be all right?" he asked.

Mary Margaret did up her blouse with trembling fingers. "You should stop caring about that," she said in a small voice. "Don't think about me, David. Don't look for me. Don't come near me again."

"Mary Margaret-"

She held up a hand. "No,” she said sharply. She needed to be sharp and hard and make him stop making things so difficult. “Enough. I've made enough of a mess of my own life. I'm not being the person to ruin you and Kathryn too."

He stood with his hand on the door handle. “And it doesn’t matter that I love you?”

Mary Margaret clenched her hands into fists. “No,” she lied. “It doesn’t.” 

He stared at her for a moment, then turned the handle of the door, opening it. Someone was running down the stairs, and there was a bag of spilled groceries lying on the staircase.

“Kathryn,” David exclaimed. He leaned over the banister. “Kathryn!”

Mary Margaret watched him run down the stairs after his wife. Only when the footsteps faded did she go out onto the stairs and collect the groceries. She would have to send them a cheque, she thought. It was rude to almost sleep with a woman’s husband while she was at the store for you.

 

______________________________________________________

 

If Mary Margaret thought things were bad, it seemed like the universe was having some huge joke at her expense, because things only got worse.

Her car was painted with offensive graffiti. People came up to her in the street to tell her what a disgrace she was. The parents of her class petitioned to have such an irresponsible and bad example removed from her post, and with the Mayor’s backing, she found herself relegated to a teaching assistant.

More than once, she found herself sitting in the supply closet, helplessly weeping. A lot of it was down to the hormones, but the rest? It was everything. It was being pregnant without a partner. It was David. It was feeling like her whole life was falling apart around her. It was the thought that she was bringing an innocent and helpless child into the middle of it.

Emma tried to help her as much as she could, but God only knew she had enough going on with Regina and Henry and on top of everything else, Mr Gold going off the handle and almost beating a florist to death. It wasn’t a good time to be Sheriff. 

She just tried to keep her head down, and when it got to the point that even the Nuns politely turned her away from the Miner’s Day candle-sale, it felt like nothing else could possibly go wrong. Not even crossing paths with David made it any worse. 

They ran into one another in the store.

There was no denying she was pregnant now. On top of the belly, her face felt puffy and half her shoes didn’t fit anymore. She didn’t feel like herself at all, swollen and bloated and ugly. And David was there, in front of her, looking at her like she was worth a damn.

Common sense told her she should have turned and walked away. 

Common sense didn’t seem to have much of a say anymore.

That was what found them sitting on a bench down by the docks. There was space between them, and she wasn’t about to be the one to instigate contact, but he was there, and he was looking at her with concern and genuine affection.

“What happened?” he asked quietly. “Everyone seems to think we did this together.”

She shook her head, looking out at the sea. “We were seen talking,” she murmured. “Around here, that seems to be enough.” 

She rested her hand on her belly, feeling the swell beneath them. Soon, the tiny person inside her would start moving. That’s what the doctors told her, when she went for her checks. She had run into Whale once. He looked down at her belly, then back at her face, and walked on by as if he hadn’t done a damned thing.

They were silent for a long while, then she looked at him. “I’m sorry about Kathryn.”

He nodded. “She kicked me out,” he said. His hands were in his pockets. Keeping them occupied, she thought, so he wouldn’t touch her. Maybe he didn’t want to anymore, now that it was clear she was pregnant and he knew it wasn’t his. “Can’t say I blame her.”

Mary Margaret knew that if it had been any other time, any other place, things could have been different. She could have run to him, taken Kathryn’s cast offs with joy. But it was now and this was the way things were.

“What happens now?” she asked quietly.

He shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said. “I just know that I want everything to stop sucking for just five minutes. We deserve a break.”

Mary Margaret laughed, because if she didn’t, she knew she would have cried. “Yeah,” she whispered. “A break would be nice.”

All at once his arm was around her shoulder, and she was drawn against his side. 

It wasn’t demanding or expecting anything. It was just… comfort. That’s what it felt like, and that was what she really, really needed. Mary Margaret smiled shakily, resting her head on his shoulder and he squeezed her gently, as if he feared breaking her.

“If you want to tell me who he is,” he offered, his cheek resting against her hair, “I’ll kick his ass for you.”

She shook her head. “It’s okay,” she murmured. “Really.” She sighed quietly. “He knows. If he changes his mind, maybe I’ll listen to him. Maybe I won’t.” She stroked her belly gently. “I just know I’m going to do the best I can for him. Or her.”

“If you need any help,” he said, “any kind of help…”

“David, I don’t think…”

“I’m not saying as us,” he interrupted gently. “I’ve seen how people are treating you. If you need a friend, I’ll be here for you as a friend.”

She looked up at him. “Is that enough for you?”

He smiled crookedly at her. “It’s a start,” he said. “If things happen, they happen, but I’m here to be your friend.”

It was a stupid mistake, but she couldn’t help leaning up and kissing him softly. It was too much, some kindness on the back of so much cruelty, some companionship after so much reviling, some love after so much hate.

He pulled back, and she knew she had mistepped, and lowered her head.

“I’m sorry.”

He stood up. “There’s too much going on just now,” he said, not looking at her. “Once things are settled, maybe we can see where things go, but now, you need to be brave, and I need to try and sort out how things are going to be with Kathryn.” He blew out a sigh. “I don’t even know if she’ll speak to me about formalities.”

Mary Margaret nodded. He was still married. She had to hold onto that. Even if she wanted nothing more than to bury her face in his chest and pretend the rest of the world wasn’t there for a little while. 

“I should get back,” she said. “Emma worries a lot sooner these days.”

“I’ll walk you back,” he said.

Mary Margaret shook her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she said, rising slowly, her hand at her back. “You go ahead. I’ll take a little longer.”

She watched him walk away, and remained standing there for a long while, until the wind picked up and cut to the bone. She was tired and she was cold, and she had just managed to drive off the one other person aside from Emma who wasn’t blaming her for anything.

Normally, she would have been involved with preparations for Miner’s day, but instead, she retreated home, and took a bath, staring at the ceiling and wishing she knew what to do with her life, her situation. It would be so much easier to cut all ties, take her things and go. Just head out into the big world where no one knew or judged her. 

The trouble was that Storybrooke was home, and she didn’t want to go somewhere new to have a new baby, without people around her who she could turn to. Perhaps they were hostile and accusing now, but they had been her friends a long time. Things would get better. They had to.

She submerged herself under the water for as long as she could hold her breath, then surfaced and unplugged the tub, letting the water drain away.

 

___________________________________________

 

Mary Margaret dared to venture into the diner the next morning, after Emma went to work.

It wasn’t a good idea, judging by the cold stares she received, but she knew that if she let them get to her now, it would only get worse. She approached the counter, looking up at the menu she’d read a thousand times.

“I’d like waffles and a hot chocolate, please.”

Granny looked her up and down. “And would you like a side of someone else’s husband?”

Mary Margaret stared at her. “I don’t know,” she said, forcing her voice to stay steady, unwilling to be driven out of one of her favourite places. “Does it come with maple syrup or cream?”

A begrudging smile twitched at Granny’s lips. “Take a seat,” she said, “I’ll bring ‘em over.”

Mary Margaret retreated to the most isolated booth she could, keeping her woollen hat on and her head down. The last thing she wanted was any more attention than she had already been getting, and she gratefully dug into the waffles when Granny bought them over.

“So it’s true?” Granny murmured. “Eating for two?”

Mary Margaret flushed, but nodded. “Some of the rumours are. Some aren’t,” she said, jabbing at a piece of waffle with her fork.

“Always the way,” Granny acknowledged. She glanced around as the door opened, then bustled off.

Mary Margaret ducked back down over her food, only looking up when someone slid into the booth opposite her. She blinked in surprise. “Emma?”

“Hey.” She looked harried, pale and worried. “You haven’t heard from David, have you?”

“I saw him yesterday, but not since then,” Mary Margaret said, frowning. “What’s wrong?”

Emma ran a hand over her face. “Kathryn’s gone missing.”

Mary Margaret dropped her fork, startled. “What?”

Emma motioned for her to lower her voice. “Her car was found wrecked and abandoned by the roadside, on the way out of town. Looks like she got out of it okay, but there’s no sign of her.” She looked urgently at Mary Margaret. “Do you know if David was planning on seeing her yesterday?”

Mary Margaret shook her head. “I-I… we didn’t talk about it. He said they hadn’t come to any arrangements or anything.” She felt light-headed. “Maybe she just got out and walked back to town?”

“Maybe,” Emma said, but she didn’t sound like she believed it. She nodded at Granny as the woman set down a takeaway cup of coffee in front of her, then waited until the older woman left. “I’m going to be out a lot with this,” she warned Mary Margaret, “and people are gonna talk.”

Mary Margaret didn’t even need to ask what she was implying. She nodded. “I’ll try not to listen,” she said. She reached over the table and squeezed Emma’s hand. “Do what you can.”

It was easy to say she wouldn’t listen.

It was harder in practise.

The whispers that were already unpleasant turned uglier as word filtered around town of Kathryn’s disappearance. How they found out, Mary Margaret didn’t know. After all, Emma was the only one who should have known, along with David and whoever found the car.

Mary Margaret pulled her hat down over her ears to muffle snide and biting words, and kept her head high, knowing that as much as she loved David, she had done nothing wrong, nothing at all, and that no matter what they believed, they were wrong.

If it had been another time and another place, she could have at least provided David with some moral support, or something of the kind, but not now, not when she heard the murmurs that it was so convenient that her bastard’s father was now without a wife.

They didn’t even know if she was just missing yet! 

Already, people were assuming the worst, and it was horrific.

Kathryn was a lovely woman, good and kind, and the last thing Mary Margaret wanted was for any harm to have come to her.

The news only got worse when Emma came home that night.

“Anything?” Mary Margaret asked. She was at the stove, preparing dinner, and the look on Emma’s face made her take the pan off the heat, worried.

“David says he had no contact with her,” Emma said, pulling her hat off and setting it down on the table. She didn’t meet Mary Margaret’s eyes. “He said he hadn’t seen her or spoken to her in two days.”

“But…”

“But we have evidence that they spoke on the phone for twenty minutes before she left town.” Emma took a breath. “She’d been considering moving to Boston, which no one else knew about. No one but him. And now, he’s lying about phone calls.”

Mary Margaret was glad she set the pan down. “What are you saying?”

Emma shook her head. “I don’t know,” she confessed, sounding drained. “He’s a good guy, but this is- there’s too much about this case that doesn’t add up.” She shed her coat and sank down into one of the chairs. “People are already saying he must have done it, so he could be with you.”

Mary Margaret braced her hands against the counter. “People are idiots,” she said.

“Preaching to the choir,” Emma sighed, leaning back in her chair. “I didn’t sign on for this. I didn’t expect missing women and suspected murder.”

“It’s never happened before,” Mary Margaret murmured, putting the pan back on the stove, trying not to dwell on the thought of David being accused of abduction and murder.

“Well, that makes me feel special,” Emma grumbled. “I have to head out again after dinner. People to talk to.” She rubbed her eyes. “I get the feeling it’s going to be a long week.”

“Don’t exhaust yourself,” Mary Margaret warned. “That won’t help anyone.”

Emma looked at her. “If Kathryn’s alive, I have to find her,” she said bluntly. “If she’s dead, I have to find who did it. That doesn’t give much leeway for rest and relaxation.”

Mary Margaret served up the food. “Still,” she said. “I worry.”

Emma’s expression softened. “Yeah,” she murmured. “I know."


	4. Chapter 4

It wasn’t David.

It took a few days, but David was cleared.

A heart was found, buried down near the Toll bridge, where Mary Margaret and David had met once or twice. That wasn’t the shocking part of it, though. The shocking part was when Mary Margaret was called into the station.

Regina was there, waiting, and Emma didn’t look happy about it.

“What’s this about?” Mary Margaret asked, puzzled. “What’s wrong?”

“We need to ask you some questions, Miss Blanchard,” the Mayor said with a sickeningly sweet smile. “I’m sure you’ll be happy to help.”

“Of course,” she said with a confused look at Emma, then back at Regina. “But why are you here?”

“To make sure I’m not prejudiced,” Emma said tersely. She motioned for Mary Margaret and Regina to follow her to one of the interview rooms and waited until they were seated on opposite sides of the table.

Mary Margaret felt queasy. Something was wrong, off, about the whole thing.

“You and David Nolan have been close, recently, haven’t you?” Regina said.

Mary Margaret flushed, lowering her eyes. “We flirted, yes,” she said, but looked up defiantly. “But we never did anything.”

Regina snorted.

“That’s not what we’re here about,” Emma said, dragging the second chair out. She sat down and set a bag on the table. Mary Margaret looked at it, and her heart felt like it flipped in her chest at the sight of it. Emma was watching her. “Do you recognise this?”

“It-it’s my jewellery box,” Mary Margaret said, frowning. “Where did you get it?”

The Mayor looked at Emma, who drew the bag back.

“It was found buried by the riverbank,” Emma said quietly. “It contained a human heart.”

Mary Margaret’s head swam. “No. That’s not possible. It was on my dresser the last time I saw it.” She looked between them, horror-stricken. “Surely you don’t think I would do something like that.”

“I know you wouldn’t,” Emma said firmly, but Regina looked at her pityingly.

“Don’t underestimate what a woman in love will do, Miss Swan,” she said. “Especially when she’s on the verge of becoming a single mother.”

“You were here,” Emma said coldly to her. “You asked the questions. You heard what she had to say. This isn’t your jurisdiction anymore, Madame Mayor, so I would appreciate it if you would get the hell out of my station.”

Regina’s expression hardened. “Don’t think this is over, Sheriff,” she said, rising, pushing the chair back sharply. “Your beloved roommate has been implicated in a murder. Her hands are all over the evidence. Maybe you don’t know her as well as you think.”

Emma said nothing, a muscle in her cheek twitching. She was silent until the door closed behind Regina, and as soon as it did, she swore explosively. 

“Emma,” Mary Margaret whispered. “Emma, you know I didn’t do this.”

Emma nodded, pushing her hands through her hair. “But we don’t know who did,” she said. She pushed her chair back and rose, pacing back and forth across the room. “I’m going to have to hold you. I don’t get any say in that.”

Mary Margaret felt like her world was falling away beneath her feet. “I understand,” she said in a small voice. “Emma, who would do this to me?” Her hands were shaking so much, she could barely lace her fingers together. “Who would hate me this much?”

“I’m going to find out, I swear to God,” Emma said, whirling around to face her. “You just have to stay calm and trust me okay?” She bent over the table, clasping Mary Margaret’s hands in hers. “I’m going to fix this.”

All the same, she had to take Mary Margaret to the cells.

Mary Margaret was a good person. She knew she was. She had never even had so much as a speeding ticket, and now, she was watching the Sheriff lock the cell, shutting her up behind bars like she was a criminal. 

“I’ll search the apartment first,” Emma said. “We need to find how someone got in and took your jewellery box.” She searched Mary Margaret’s face, worried. “Do you need anything else? Water? Blankets?” She hesitated and ruefully glanced around. “Slop bucket?”

Mary Margaret sat down on the edge of the bed, putting her hand to her belly. “That might be a good idea,” she admitted. She felt sick enough anyway. Being closed up, accused of murder, wasn’t helping the nausea. She closed her eyes, taking deep breaths. 

“You’ll be okay,” Emma whispered. “I promise.”

Mary Margaret nodded, but couldn’t face opening her eyes. “Just go. Look. Find something to get me out of here.”

She waited until Emma’s footsteps faded, and pushed herself back on the bed, until she was leaning against the wall. Her hands shaped the swell of her belly and she looked down at the growing bump. “It gets easier than this, I promise,” she whispered. “It’s not always this bad.”

She heard the light tap of a cane on the floor and looked up, startled.

Mr Gold was standing in the doorway, watching her silently.

“What do you want?” she asked in an unsteady voice.

He approached the bars, his eyes on her face. “I heard you might be in need of some assistance,” he murmured.

She pressed her hands to her thighs. “I don’t know what you mean,” she whispered. “I didn’t do anything.”

One side of his mouth turned up. “There’s a big difference between not doing anything, and the evidence that suggests otherwise,” he said. “You’ve heard what’s been found so far. Do you think it’s going to end there?”

Mary Margaret stared at him. “What do you mean?”

“You’re not a fool, Miss Blanchard,” he said, looking down at his cane, then back up at her. “Tell me: if someone has gone to such lengths as to steal your jewellery box and incriminate you so thoroughly, what makes you think it’ll stop there?”

Mary Margaret shook her head. “I don’t understand,” she said. “I’ve done nothing to hurt anyone. Nothing at all. Why would someone want to do this?”

Gold shook his head. “I can’t answer that question,” he said, “but if you need assistance of the legal kind, I’m not a man who would want to see a child born behind bars.”

Mary Margaret shivered. “Do you think it’ll come to that?”

“Someone’s heart has been cut out and buried with the intent of incriminating you, Miss Blanchard,” he said. “I think it has already come to that.” He inclined his head. “If you need my aid, have Miss Swan call on me.”

She shook her head. “I couldn’t pay you,” she said quietly.

“Oh, that’s of no never mind at the moment,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “You’ve done more than enough to earn a little assistance in time of trouble.” He inclined his head gravely. “Don’t forget that the offer stands.”

She nodded, watching him go, and wondered just how much worse things would need to get before she would call on him willingly.

 

 

______________________________________

 

Mary Margaret wanted to cry, but she had run dry hours, no, days ago. 

She didn’t even know where she was now.

Some large house, far, far out of town.

She should never have run.

It had all become too much: Emma found a knife in her apartment; the heart was confirmed as being Kathryn’s; bail was denied; a date for the arraignment was set. As much as she wanted to believe in Emma, someone was setting her up, and they were doing it well, and she had no idea why.

She had tried to distract herself, keep herself occupied, but the bars made it difficult. She was making her bed up when she found an unexpected object: a key. She tried it and it opened the door, and when things just kept building and building, when more and more evidence kept piling up, she kept it hidden.

Breaking point came when David came to the station.

David, who wanted to support her and be her friend. David, whom she loved with a sick and desperate passion. David, whom she had trusted to believe in her innocence, just as she believed in his.

He came to her. He asked her if she was to blame.

That was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

One of her two allies could find no way to help her. 

The other didn’t believe in her.

If she stayed, she would go to jail. If she went to jail, they would take her child away from her. If they took her child away from her…

She ran. 

She ran for herself, for her child, for the chance for them to be safe together, somewhere where she wasn’t being framed so cruelly for a murder she didn’t commit. It was exhausting and her back screamed and she had to stop three times to be sick, but she ran.

She never saw the man who caught her until it was too late.

A chemical-soaked cloth closed over her mouth and nose from behind, and when she came around, she was tied to a chair in the house that was now her prison. Her bonds were tight enough that she couldn’t just squirm free, and she whimpered against the gag lashed around her mouth.

“You’re awake.” The voice came from behind her, and she flinched as a hand touched her shoulder. She was pushed forward in the seat and braced herself for some new pain or humiliation. Instead, a small, round cushion was wedged down behind her back, easing the tension there. 

Her captor walked around in front of her and surveyed her. 

She couldn’t remember ever seeing him before.

“Now, you know running is a bad idea,” he said, crouching down at her feet and pulling a footstool out from underneath the chair. He lifted each of her feet up onto it. “Especially in your condition.”

Mary Margaret stared at him wildly, then started struggling.

The man drew a gun from his belt and put it to her head. “Now, now,” he said. “None of that. I need to borrow you for a little while. You and Junior are going to be useful to me.” He smiled, a strange, broken expression. “Your friend will come after you. I need to talk to her. I need her to come here.”

Mary Margaret’s eyes widened in horror. Emma. She was leading Emma straight into this madman’s trap. She started struggling in earnest, small whimpers of distress and fury escaping her. She was not about to let Emma get hurt.

The man sighed, shaking his head, and moved behind her again. She saw the cloth coming and tried to turn her head away, avoid it, but he caught her chin in his hand and pressed the cloth over her face again.

“There, there,” he murmured. “Rest now, Snow White. Better for you to rest. Too much stress is bad for the baby.” His voice was all she could hear as the world faded to black. “We don’t want you to hurt the baby.”

When consciousness returned a second time, Mary Margaret looked around blearily, trying to find something she could use to escape. The room looked like it was unused, no tools, no weapons, only a dresser and some croquet clubs. She could hear a car approaching somewhere in the distance, and struggled as hard as she could against the ropes.

It didn’t do any good, only making her shaky and breathless behind the gag. Her head swam and she wanted to be sick again, even though there was nothing left to come up. She forced herself to breathe steadily, as much as she could, to try and stay calm, but she was tied to a chair in a gun-toting madman’s house. Calm was a long way away.

The door opened again, and she almost sobbed with the combination of relief and dismay.

Emma.

The Sheriff looked stunned, running across the room and kneeling to untie her. “What happened?” she whispered urgently.

“Later,” Mary Margaret whispered back, stumbling on unsteady legs. “Please. We need out of here.”

They didn’t even get as far as the stairs, and the man put the gun to Emma’s head, instructing her to tie Mary Margaret up again. She did so, but the ropes were looser. Not quite enough to slip free, but if she wriggled and squirmed, they started to give way.

She knew Emma would find a way out. Emma was smart, and she would get them out of this, but just as long as Mary Margaret was ready. She had almost got her right hand loose when she felt a strange sensation low in her belly. 

Terror thundered through her. The baby. Something was wrong.

She craned her neck, looking down, searching for any telltale signs.

Nothing.

The feeling came again.

Her breath caught in her throat.

The baby was moving. The baby was okay and it was moving. She had never felt it move before, and the relief, the awe, the shock that ran through made her tremble. It felt realer, somehow, as if something blurred in the distance had just come into focus.

“Hey,” she whispered. “Hold on, okay? Mommy’s a little busy.”

She’d managed to free her arm entirely when Emma crashed into the room again, tugging at the remains of her bond. Their assailant burst in after her, knocking all three of them to the ground and Mary Margaret yelped, rolling off the chair.

The man tackled Emma, who groped wildly for his gun, and Mary Margaret scrambled across the floor to the only weapon she could see. 

“Hey!” she yelled, bringing the croquet stick down hard on his back. He spun around and the window was right behind him, and quite what happened next, she didn’t know. She must have kicked him or hit him or something, because the glass shattered and he hurtled out of the window backwards.

Emma struggled to her feet, bruised and shaken, but safe, and Mary Margaret could not have been more relieved, throwing her arms tightly around her. Emma hugged her back limply, patting her on the back.

“You okay?” 

Mary Margaret nodded, surprised to find that she had managed to dredge up some happy tears after all. “Yeah,” she said. “Emma, she moved.”

Emma grinned crookedly. “Just like you then, huh?” she said. “Mary Margaret, if you wanted to run, you should have said.” She caught Mary Margaret’s hand in her own. “Believe me, I know what that’s like.”

Mary Margaret flushed. “I-I…” She shook her head. “Everything was bad.”

“I know,” Emma said quietly. She put her hand on Mary Margaret’s shoulder. “C’mon. Let’s get out of here, okay?”

The sun was only beginning to rise as the emerged from the house, and a search found Emma’s bug tucked away under a tarp. They uncovered it together, but instead of getting into it, Emma toyed with the keys.

“We should be getting back,” Mary Margaret murmured.

“Here,” Emma said, holding out the keys. “You want to go, I get it. Go. Get to safety.”

Mary Margaret stared at her. “You’re serious?”

“If you want to,” Emma said, “but you have to remember this isn’t just you anymore. This is for life, and you won’t ever be able to stop.” She nodded down at Mary Margaret’s bump. “If you want to be sure of being with your kid, if you think this is the right thing...”

“You think I should?”

Emma shook her head. “No, but it’s your choice,” she said quietly, her expression grave. “And it isn’t going to be easy if you go.”

“Emma, they think I killed Kathryn…”

Emma shook her head. “I can get you out of this, Mary Margaret, you have to believe me.” She took a shaking breath. “You said you trusted me, when I was framed for robbing Archie. No one ever did that before. I-I… I just need you to trust me this once more. I can’t see you go, not willingly. I can’t lose my family.”

It was like a thunderclap and in the stillness that followed, Mary Margaret stepped closer and held Emma tight. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered. “Whatever happens, I know you’ll look after us.”

 

_____________________________________________________

 

Coming back was a mistake.

Mary Margaret trusted Emma. She really trusted her. Emma was the one who knew her secrets, and she knew Emma would do everything she could to help her, but right now, Mary Margaret felt like she was stuck at the bottom of a deep hole, and Emma was at the top, dropping a rope that was just too short for her to reach.

The intention was there. God, it was really there. Emma was trying so hard, searching and hunting and asking and doing all the things a good Sheriff would so, but no matter what she did, it wasn’t enough.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. 

Mary Margaret stood silently in the cell, staring at her. 

She was going to be locked up for a crime she didn’t commit. Her child was going to be taken from her by force and put into the foster system, out of her reach. She had already seen her faith slip and shatter and now, she was going to lose all that she had left. And all because she hadn’t run when she had the chance.

The baby was stirring, as if it could sense her grief, her shock, her fury, and she closed her hands over her belly protectively. Emma’s eyes flicked down, and the helplessness in her expression only made Mary Margaret angrier.

“You told me you could fix this,” she said, her voice low. “That’s why I came back.” She shook her head. “You told me to believe in you, and I did.” Her lips trembled and her throat felt thick and stifling around the words. “I trusted you to protect me. To protect us.”

“Mary Margaret…”

“No!” Mary Margaret shook her head. “No! I trusted you, Emma! Not just for me, but for my baby as well! What the hell do you think is going to happen to my child now? Do you think I want it to be taken like you were?”

Emma recoiled as if Mary Margaret had slapped her. “I did everything I could, Mary Margaret,” she whispered. She didn’t sound strong or confident or bold anymore. She sounded scared, fragile, broken, and that didn’t help. She was meant to be strong. She was meant to save them both. “I-I tried.”

Mary Margaret braced her hands against the bars. “I’m going to jail,” she said quietly, her voice hard and matter of fact. “My baby is going to be taken from me. Whoever did this is going to get away with it and nothing you can do now can stop it.”

“Mary Margaret, please…”

Mary Margaret felt like she was standing a thousand miles up on a ledge when she spoke, her eyes on a point far beyond Emma. “You’re going to make sure my baby gets a good home,” she said. “You can at least do that for me.”

Emma nodded, tears in her eyes.

Any other time, Mary Margaret would have been stunned to see Emma Swan was capable of crying, but now, she was exhausted and angry and despairing and furious, more furious than she could have believed possible. Her child was the reason, she knew. They were going to take it. Him. Her. Whoever she or he was. 

“Go away, Emma,” she said quietly. “I….” She drew a shaking breath. “I don’t want to see you just now.”

She turned her back and waited until the office was silent, then walked to the back wall of the cell and beat the side of her fists against it until they were bruised and bloody. She wanted to cry, but the anger was too much. She leaned forward, pressing her forehead against her fists. Her breathing was coming quick and ragged.

“Something upsetting you, dear?”

Mary Margaret spun around. 

Regina, the Mayor, was standing there.

Emma had insisted Regina was to blame, that somehow she was behind it all, and from the smile on Regina’s face, Mary Margaret was starting to believe it, though she had no idea why.

“What do you want?” she demanded, turning and stalking towards the bars.

Regina seemed surprised by her attitude. “Such hostility.”

Mary Margaret smiled, tight-lipped. “You’d probably prefer me to be weeping and moaning, wouldn’t you?” she said, one hand spreading over the child she was protecting, the child who - if Emma was right - would be taken away because of this woman.

“Given your circumstances, it wouldn’t surprise me,” Regina said, smiling slightly. 

Mary Margaret put her head to one side, staring at her. “You really hate me, don’t you? You hate me so much you would do this.”

“What an imagination you have,” Regina murmured. “Why would I want to tear you apart from you and your lover and the little bastard you created? Really, Miss Blanchard, a married man? You deserve to rot.”

Mary Margaret gazed at her. “My lover? A married man?” She shook her head. “You think me and David did anything? You think I’m a home-wrecker?”

For a moment, the Mayor looked confused. She nodded down at Mary Margaret’s belly. “I think there’s plenty evidence of that,” she said, sneering. 

Mary Margaret started laughing. It wasn’t happy, not in the least, but it made the Mayor back up, confused. “You want to see me rot for a crime I didn’t commit,” she murmured. “Is that it?” She leaned closer to the bars. “Well, you’re framing me for the wrong thing. David and I did nothing.” She bared her teeth. “You can DNA test the baby, but you’ll find no evidence of that anywhere, so you can get off you god-damned high horse!”

Regina’s eyes were wide. For a moment, she looked appalled. “If it’s not David’s, then who else have you been whoring yourself with?” she demanded.

Mary Margaret felt like white hot steel was pouring through her veins. “You don’t get to ask the questions, Madame Mayor,” she snarled. “Emma says you’re behind all of this, and I swear to God, if you are, you are going to regret threatening me and my child.” She breathed out, the air hissing between clenched teeth. “Actions have consequences, Madame Mayor, and if this was one of your actions…”

“You’re threatening me? While locked up for a murder?”

Mary Margaret wrapped her hands around the bars. “Accused,” she said coldly. “You’ll find I’m accused. Innocent until proven guilty, and I am innocent, and one day, maybe not right away, I’m going to prove it.” She leaned her head against the bars. “But you can be damned sure that if I lose my freedom and my child, because of you, I’m not going to forget it.”

Regina stared at her, as if she was seeing someone else.

“You’re leaving Storybrooke,” she said sharply. “You’ll never see any of us again.”

Mary Margaret smiled without humour. “You hope,” she said. “Get the hell out of here.”

As soon as she was alone, the anger seemed to drain away, and she sank back down onto the bunk. “If anything happens,” she whispered to the bump, her hands wrapping over it again. “if they take you away from me, I swear I’ll find you. No matter what.”


	5. Chapter 5

Kathryn Nolan was alive.

Mary Margaret was exonerated and freed without charge. 

She couldn’t quite take it in. They had been halfway to the border of Storybrooke when the Sheriff’s squad car came tearing up beside the police van, sirens screaming, and Emma had snatched the guard’s keys to release her.

Emma brought her home, let her into the house, and the first thing she did was go and take a long, long shower to wash the smell of jail off her. It felt strange being clean again. It felt strange being free again. She felt light-headed with relief, but it was as if she was feeling it all from a distance.

When she emerged, Emma was working at the stove.

Emma couldn’t cook.

It was one of the reasons that Mary Margaret always made sure to pre-prepare meals.

But she was trying and a plate of scrambled eggs that were only a little burnt around the edges was waiting on the table. A peace offering, made in the cautious hope that they were both okay. Emma stood anxiously in the kitchen, wringing a dishtowel between her hands. 

Mary Margaret sat down and picked up the fork, taking a mouthful.

Emma visibly relaxed.

“Thanks,” Mary Margaret said quietly. 

“There’s toast too, if you want some,” Emma said. Her voice was a little too bright. “But no milk left for your tea. I’ve kind of been living off spaghetti Os and cereal. I’ll need to go to the store.”

“It’s okay,” Mary Margaret murmured. She took another mouthful, then set down the fork, looking up at Emma. “Are we… okay, Emma?”

Emma fidgeted with the cloth. “Sure.”

“No, Emma, I said things I shouldn’t have.”

Emma shrugged. “You were scared. Angry. I’d messed up.”

“No!” Mary Margaret shook her head. “No, Emma, you’d done everything you could have done in the circumstances!” She rose and hurried across the floor, catching Emma’s hands in her own. “I’m sorry for what I said. That it was your fault. This was so much bigger than the both of us.”

Emma looked down at their linked hands, then up at her face. “I never wanted you to be in there,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I didn’t even fix anything. It all just happened, and I couldn’t do anything.”

“You did what you could,” Mary Margaret said again. “Everything you could.”

Emma nodded, but didn’t look convinced.

Mary Margaret took her hands, and pressed them to the bump. “We’re both out of there because you wouldn’t stop fighting,” she said softly, watching Emma gazing down at the swell beneath their hands. “You kept me and my baby together.”

Emma’s eyes were bright with emotion. “I didn’t do anything,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Really. I didn’t. It all just…” She pulled back, tugging at the belt loops of her pants, avoiding Mary Margaret’s eyes. “You should eat. You need to eat. Keep up your strength for the baby.”

Mary Margaret nodded, returning to the table and picked up the fork. “Are you going to join me?”

“No. No, I’m good,” Emma said, shaking her head. “I-I need to go and check with Gold if there’s anything else we need to do.” She grabbed her coat off the back of one of the chairs, heading towards the door, where she paused. “Will you be okay on your own?”

Mary Margaret hesitated, knowing company that wasn’t looking through bars would be good, but Emma was clearly uncomfortable. She forced a smile. “I’ll be fine. You go.”

The Sheriff fled from the apartment and Mary Margaret looked down at her half-eaten eggs, wondering if Emma would really notice if she put them in the trash. She set the fork down and ran both hands over her face. 

Getting out of the jail was good, but she knew the feeling of bars and being closed up wasn’t going to go away.

She forced down a few more bites of egg, then she grabbed her coat, hat, and scarf and headed out into the day as well. The air was crisp and cool, and even though she wished she had her gloves, it felt good to feel the wind on her face.

People even nodded to her in greeting, though most of them still looked wary, as if they couldn’t quite work out what to make of her. She supposed she still had the reputation of local whore and homewrecker on her resumé, even if kidnapper and murderer had been taken out of the running. 

So she smiled like she meant it and walked in circles around town, until the rain came on and her feet were aching. She made her way home, stopping in at the store and buying enough food for a decent dinner.

It felt good to just cook something again, though she stopped short at the refrigerator, when she went to put away some of the groceries. The print out of her scan was there, even though the baby wasn’t visible. She touched her stomach, looking down. 

“It’s about time we got a picture of you,” she informed the bump. “I know you’re in there now, and it’ll be harder to hide.”

“Who’re you talking to?” Emma inquired, coming down the stairs.

Mary Margaret smiled wanly. “My mini-me,” she said, patting her belly. “We’re about due another scan, if the doctors haven’t wiped my medical records and replaced them with my criminal records.”

“Knowing this place?” Emma said wryly. “Listen, a few people want to have a party to celebrate you being innocent.”

Mary Margaret picked up the knife to chop the vegetables. “That’s nice,” she said. “Since it’s not exactly a change in the circumstances, why do they think I should have a party?”

“I think they want to make it up to you.”

Mary Margaret set the knife down. “I don’t think so,” she said quietly. “I’m tired. If they want to make things up to me, tell them they can stop talking about me behind my back. Tell them that if they have a question about my baby, they ask me. They don’t gossip about it like I’m deaf or stupid.” She took an onion out of one of the bags and started chopping it. “I’ve heard what they’re still calling me. Why would I want anything to do with them?”

Her roommate came closer. “Can I help?” she asked quietly. “I mean, with anything? I know what this is like, and it sucks.”

Mary Margaret continued to chop the vegetables. “Why were you in jail?” she asked quietly, not looking up.

Emma was silent for a long moment. “Because I trusted someone I shouldn’t have.”

“Henry’s father?”

“Yeah.”

Mary Margaret looked up at her. “Did you do anything wrong?”

Emma hesitated. “Not then,” she said. “Before, sure, but not then.” She blew out a noisy sigh. “He set me up to take the fall for something he’d done. So trust me when I say I know exactly what it’s like.”

Mary Margaret looked at her, then held out the knife. “Can you cut up the chicken?” she asked.

Emma met her eyes and gave her a small smile. “Sure.”

 

___________________________________________

 

The truth, it seemed, was useful.

Somehow, everyone in town knew that David Nolan wasn’t the baby’s father. Given that only four people knew that for a fact, and three of them would never have said anything about it, she could take a wild stab in the dark at the culprit.

Only one person of the three seemed to harbour any malicious intent towards her.

David hadn’t breathed a word about it. It was true that her life would have been much easier if he had been more convincing about the fact they weren’t lovers during her incarceration, but she did appreciate his awkward attempts at discretion.

Whale seemed to be doing his best to avoid her at all costs, pretending she and the evidence of their encounter didn’t exist. On the occasions they had bumped into one another at the hospital, he eyed her belly as if it might bite him, then fled in the other direction.

That only left Regina, who seemed hell-bent on destroying the tattered remains of Mary Margaret’s reputation. Mary Margaret was tired and footsore and swollen and hormonal. She was told by doctors to take it easy, which meant putting aside thoughts of slashing the Mayor’s tyres with a penknife.

Still, if the Mayor was going to spread rumours, fighting fire with fire was the way she was going to play it.

If anyone asked about her baby, she said she was so inspired by the example of the Mayor as a single mother that she had decided to take a more direct approach. The Mayor, she said, wide-eyed and innocent, was known for her own liaisons with the late Sheriff, but clearly preferred the adoption route.

People were suddenly a good deal more tolerant.

Whether Regina interfered again or stopped her active campaign of malice, Mary Margaret didn’t know, but it meant she was able to go back to work in peace, and when she went to the hospital for her scans, people didn’t whisper or stare.

Emma went with her, on Mary Margaret’s request,. She sat by the beside, watching gel being rubbed over Mary Margaret’s stomach, and she squeezed Mary Margaret’s hand as the baby was picked out on the monitor. 

“Look at that,” Mary Margaret whispered. “Not such a little thing anymore.”

“Big enough to fit in your hand,” the ob-gyn said with a small smile. She shifted the scanner, then looked at Mary Margaret. “Do you want to know what you’re having?”

Mary Margaret’s mouth opened in surprise. “You can tell?”

The doctor laughed. “You have an exhibitionist,” she said.

Mary Margaret hesitated. “Did you know?” she asked Emma.

Emma shook her head. “I didn’t want to,” she said. “But this is different.”

Mary Margaret nodded. “Can I think about it?” she asked.

The doctor smiled. “Of course. Just call for an appointment and we can discuss it again if you change your mind.” 

When they left, Mary Margaret was carrying a print from the scan, staring at it. “I have a person in me,” she said, dazed. “An actual real person.”

“Feels crazy, doesn’t it?” Emma murmured.

Mary Margaret nodded, tracing the outline of the baby with her thumbnail. “I always wanted to be a mom,” she murmured. “Always. I used to dress my dolls up and pretend I was their mom, and bath them and feed them.” She shook her head with a laugh. “And now, I’m going to be and it doesn’t feel real.”

Emma stopped on the steps of the hospital. “It’ll get real, real fast,” she warned quietly. She glanced at her watch. “You mind walking back? I need to catch up with August. We were meant to be meeting.”

Mary Margaret waved her away. “Go ahead,” she said. “I have some thinking to do.” she headed off the main sidewalk and down towards the river, walking along the bank.

“Mary Margaret?”

She stopped short, startled, at the sight of Kathryn Nolan. “Kathryn!”

The other woman was wearing a housecoat over her hospital tunic. She was pale and hollow-cheeked, but she was smiling. “How are you? And the baby?”

Mary Margaret stared at her blankly. “Um. Fine. We’re both fine.” She pointed uncertainly at Kathryn. “How about you? I mean, with the whole… kidnap thing? No one really told me what happened there.”

“I wish I knew,” Kathryn admitted. She approached, slipping her arm through Mary Margaret’s unresisting one. “Will you walk with me? It gets lonely out here.”

“Uh, sure?” 

They walked in silence along the edge of the river, and Mary Margaret couldn’t help feeling self-conscious about the fact she had not only kissed the other woman’s husband - more than once too - but would have happily slept with him.

“Kathryn, about David…”

Kathryn squeezed her arm. “Don’t worry about that,” she said. “I saw the way he looked at you.” She knocked her shoulder against Mary Margaret’s. “I heard you sending him away, that day, after the store. I know you didn’t want to do anything to jeopardise our marriage.”

“You’re not angry?”

Kathryn met her eyes. “The man who woke up from the coma was never the husband who walked out of my house all those months ago,” she said. “He loves you. Not me. Not anymore.” She shook her head with a wry smile. “I was on my way to make a fresh start, you know. Boston. Law school.” She breathed out a sigh. “Looks like I’ll have to wait until next fall before I can go now.”

“Wait,” Mary Margaret drew her to a stop. “You were leaving? You weren’t going to stay and work things out with him?”

“Sometimes,” Kathryn said simply, “you have to do what makes you happy.”

Mary Margaret felt unsteady. She had been avoiding David after their last encounter when she was in jail. He’d never mentioned anything about Kathryn leaving. But then, he had been practically accusing Mary Margaret of murdering her.

“He isn’t the father, is he?” Kathryn murmured.

Mary Margaret lowered her eyes, shaking her head. “The father was a mistake.” She ran her hand over the bump. “But even mistakes sometimes have an unexpected good result.”

“Are you happy?”

The question was such a simple one, but Mary Margaret couldn’t even answer it.

“I don’t know,” she murmured. “Not now. Not yet. But I think I could be.”

They had come back full circle towards the front of the hospital. 

“Well, I hope you find out how,” Kathryn said, slipping her arm free. She wrinkled her nose with a smile. “I should get back inside. If I don’t show up for food, they send out a search party again.”

Mary Margaret caught her hand. “Thank you,” she said.

“For what?”

Mary Margaret shrugged. “Explaining,” she said. “And understanding. I feel like people have been skirting around me for weeks now.”

Kathryn gave her hand a squeeze. “People, as a rule, are idiots,” she said. “Don’t listen to the collective, listen to the individual.”

“And if the individual is an idiot?”

Kathryn’s smile was warm. “Then they’re not worth listening to.” She leaned closer and pecked Mary Margaret on the cheek. “You’re a good woman, Mary Margaret, and I know you’re going to be a wonderful mother.”

Mary Margaret watched her walking back into the hospital, shaking her head. If she could have half of Kathryn’s grace and fortitude under the circumstances, she knew she would be doing a lot better.


	6. Chapter 6

Emma was back late.

Mary Margaret had been sleeping badly anyway, a side-effect of incarceration, so she heard the door open and Emma rush up the stairs. Less than fifteen minutes later, she rushed back down and out of the apartment. 

Mary Margaret propped herself up on her arm, frowning. 

It wasn’t like Emma to be so hasty about anything.

But then, if it was anything to do with Henry…

She put her head down, and managed to get at least a little sleep. It was broken by dreams of bars being closed on her by David, and Emma blindly searching for the missing key, while Regina stood over her and laughed, wind roaring around them. 

She woke with a start, her nightshirt clinging to her.

Nightmares weren’t fun at the best of times, but it seemed like they’d disturbed the baby too, the now-familiar twitching low in her belly suggesting she wasn’t the only one who had woken sharply.

There was no sign of Emma, which was unusual, and when she tried her cell, there was no answer. Worried, she made her way upstairs. Emma’s bed was unmade, but the rest of the room was bare. Her boxes were gone. Her clothes too. 

Mary Margaret stared around in shock.

There was no note.

No message.

She hurried down the stairs, dialling the cell again.

“C’mon, Emma,” she pleaded. They hadn’t got this far just for Emma to abandon her. To abandon both of them. 

The call rang out to voicemail and Mary Margaret hung up.

It wasn’t like she could report her missing. 

It wasn’t like she could do anything.

And anyway, Emma was a grown-up, who could make her own decisions, even if they were damned stupid decisions.

Mary Margaret stormed into the kitchen, throwing together breakfast to stave off the hunger pangs in her belly, buttering toast with a vengeance. She didn’t even look up when she heard the scratch of the key in the lock.

Emma opened the door a crack, as if she expected to be yelled at.

Mary Margaret kept her head down. There were too many emotions rushing through her, foremost relief, but also anger and hurt. She sliced the toast in half, then into squares, then set the knife down.

“Hey,” Emma said cautiously.

“I thought you left,” Mary Margaret said mildly.

Emma set down her bags and boxes. “Mary Margaret…”

“But,” Mary Margaret continued. “I couldn’t tell for sure because you didn’t bother to say goodbye.” She raised her head and looked across the room at Emma, holding back stupid hormonal tears by force of will alone. “You said we were in this together, Emma. You said we were family.”

Emma looked like a lost kid, but that didn’t help, not when she was a grown woman, a woman with a child, someone who should have known so much better. “I shouldn’t have left,” she said quietly.

“No,” Mary Margaret said, startled at how quickly the anger was rising. “You shouldn’t, so why - after everything - did you just go?”

Emma’s shoulders were hunched, her hands shoved in her pockets. “I don’t want to be Sheriff,” she said sullenly. “I don’t want people relying on me. I don’t want any of this.”

Mary Margaret stared at her. “What about Henry?” she asked.

Emma’s expression hardened. “I took him with me.”

Mary Margaret buried her face in her hands for a moment. “Let me get this straight,” she said, taking a deep breath to keep her temper in check. “You tell me running is the worst thing I could do with a child, and you what? Abduct your legally adopted son? And run?”

“I want what’s best for him,” Emma said, her voice muted, the defiance faint.

“And running is best?” Mary Margaret shook her head. “I don’t think that’s best for him. I think that’s your prerogative.” She braced her hands against the edge of the counter. “You’re reverting, Emma. You’re turning back into the person you were before you came here.” She looked at the other woman with disappointment. “And I thought you’d changed.”

Emma didn’t meet her eyes. “You’re wrong.”

Mary Margaret folded her arms, gazing at her. “So,” she said. “One mother to another, you’re going to have to do what’s right for him now.”

Emma looked at her, uncertain. “And what’s that?”

Mary Margaret snorted. “Oh, I don’t know,” she said, putting her toast onto her plate with unnecessary force. “You’re his mother. That’s your job, so you figure it out.” She took the plate over to the table and sat down, her back to Emma.

Emma retreated up the stairs, to Mary Margaret’s relief. 

Alone and in the silence, she propped her elbows on the table and buried her head in her hands, just for a moment, trying to gather herself. She was shaking so hard she couldn’t face breakfast. 

It was crazy, trying to deal with all the emotions that seemed to bounce around like out of control rubber balls. She wanted to stay angry, but she also wanted to hug Emma, and just know that her friend wasn’t about to leave her to face motherhood on her own. It was stupid and selfish and frustrating.

She pressed her fists against her eyes to keep from crying.

 

________________________________________________

 

Emma was leaving.

The decision was made that, for Henry’s sake, she would leave. 

She would visit, and she would stay in touch, but it was safer for everyone involved if she left Henry. What went unsaid was that she was leaving to give Regina a break, and maybe let her gain some perspective.

Mary Margaret couldn’t argue with the theory. It was sound. Regina wouldn’t feel threatened by Emma’s presence if Emma wasn’t…well… present. Henry would still have contact, but he would have a more stable home as well, and it would be better for everyone.

All the same, as much as she smiled and nodded and agreed that Emma was doing the right thing for Henry, part of Mary Margaret felt like it was shattering. 

Emma was the only person in the whole town who had believed in her from the word go. Emma was the one who had fought for her, who had helped her and supported her, who knew how scared she was, and she was leaving. 

She promised to call, of course, all the time, and come back to be there for the birth, but it wasn’t going to be the same. Still, it was better for Henry and better for Emma. They would both have some time, and some stability.

She slipped out to let Emma say her farewells to Henry privately, heading down to the diner to brood over a hot chocolate. It was a quiet night, and Ruby slipped into the booth with her, asking after the baby, and how she was doing. 

The conversation petered out pretty fast, and Mary Margaret headed back out to her car, ready to go home, bury her head under the pillow and cry.

“Mary Margaret?”

She almost dropped her keys in fright at the voice behind her, and spun around. “David?”

He offered her a wan smile. “It’s been a while. Seems like you were avoiding me.”

“Yes. Yes.” She was too tired for subterfuge or games. “I was.”

His face fell, but he nodded. “Guess I deserved that,” he said, looking much graver than she had ever seen him. “How are you? Both of you?”

Mary Margaret shook her head and wrapped her coat more tightly around her body. “What do you want, David?”

David looked up at the night sky, as if gathering himself. “Kathryn put down a deposit on an apartment in Boston,” he said finally. “It seems a shame to let it just go to waste.” He looked back at her. “I know we haven’t had a good run of things, but you’re the one thing I have left to stay in town for.”

Mary Margaret closed her eyes. “You’re giving me an ultimatum?”

“Not an ultimatum,” he said quietly. “I screwed up, I know I did, but it’s like there’s something in my head that won’t let me do or say the right thing.” He sighed. “But I know this: I still love you, and if you think there’s even the slightest chance we could… I don’t know… start over?”

If it had been before the imprisonment, if it had been before Kathryn’s disappearance, if it had been before any of it, Mary Margaret knew she would have been in his arms in an instant. But it wasn’t. All those things had happened. He believed her guilty. He said as much. How could he really love her and believe she could do something like that?

“No,” she said quietly. 

“No?”

She nodded once. “No. There isn’t the slightest chance.” She held out her hand, cold and formal as she could. “Good luck in Boston.”

His hand was warm around hers, and a frisson of familiar desire ran down her spine, but he had hurt her already. He had hurt her enough. She needed to be strong for her child, and that didn’t mean taking on a man who was incapable of trusting her or believing in her. She had to be strong enough to believe in herself first.

“Good luck with the baby,” he said, and she knew he meant it, and she had to turn away and get into the car.

He stood there, silently, beside the car, and she had to blink away tears as she turned on the engine and drove away. If he was telling the truth, it would be the last time she would see him, and that was both the first and last thing she wanted.

She only managed a block and a half, and turned off at the first intersection. She pulled into the sidewalk, pressing her head to the back of her hands on the steering wheel. Why now? Why did he have to do it now? When Emma was leaving? Why? Did he know? Did he hope she would be vulnerable and need someone to take Emma’s place?

Her phone buzzed and she hastily cleared her throat.

“Hello?”

“Mary Margaret?”

“Emma?”

Emma sounded shaken. “I need you to get to the hospital,” she said. “Something happened to Henry. I need you to watch him.”

“Some… what happened?”

“I’ll explain later,” Emma replied curtly. “He’s in the emergency ward. Please. I need you to watch him for me.”

“Of course,” Mary Margaret said at once, hastily wiping her eyes. “Are you…”

The phone cut off before she could finish the question.

Mary Margaret put her foot down right away.

 

__________________________________________________

 

 

Henry was dying.

Emma and Regina were nowhere to be found.

Doctor Whale let Mary Margaret sit with the boy for hours reading to him, but he was dying, and when all the monitors started screaming, when the crash carts rushed in, when Whale - with surprising gentleness - guided her out, when the curtains were pulled, Mary Margaret felt like the whole world was going wrong.

Henry was just a child, a good boy, and his mothers - both of them - should have been there, but instead, there was just a wall of white curtain, no mothers, just a teacher who was feeling more and more terrified for her own unborn child. 

She stumbled through the hospital and out into the fresh air, taking gulping gasps. 

It was all wrong. Everything was wrong.

Children shouldn’t just die.

Parents shouldn’t just leave them.

The morning was coming, and everything was wrong.

Mary Margaret walked numbly out into the streets of Storybrooke, wishing she knew where Emma was, wishing there was something she could do except stand and watch a sweet little boy dying, wishing that his crazy theory about the curse was right so magic could save him.

Storybrooke was waking, as she returned to the main street, to wait for the diner to open, to take refuge with others. She sat down on one of the benches that lined the main street, trying to calm her breathing, trying not to think, trying to do anything but remember Henry, so pale and still, in the hospital bed. 

She closed her eyes and inhaled. As she did so, it felt like a gust of wind swept around her.

Mary Margaret was the one close her eyes.

Snow White was the one to open them with a gasp.

A lifetime of memories opened up before her: Charming, Regina, her father, the dwarves, Red, war, fighting, freedom, the curse. And now Storybrooke, Emma, Henry, the book, the curse again, the truth.

The memories folded together, and Snow White looked down, a small, startled sound of distress escaping her.

The child. The child of a man whose true name she didn’t know. The child of a man who was not her husband.

She rose on trembling legs.

If she had courage, she would have searched for David, but he was leaving. He was meant to be gone, gone forever, and she couldn’t deny she was afraid of what her friends from the Forest would say, what they would think, how they would react.

They would all know, of course.

Everyone knew about Mary Margaret Blanchard and her bastard.

But Snow White?

She needed Emma. 

Emma.

Oh God.

Emma. Her daughter. Her child. Her grandchild. She turned in the direction of the hospital, her heart racing. Henry. Henry, dying. Henry in the hospital. Emma missing. Regina missing too. Together.

She didn’t know what to do, which way to go.

If she went to the hospital, Whale would be there, and she didn’t know if he was anything like the man who had left her high and dry or if he would be someone else entirely. If she went home, waited, maybe Emma would come back. If, if, if…

She turned on the spot, distressed.

“Snow!”

Her heart leapt.

David.

Charming.

She spun around to see him running towards her, flushed, out of breath. His pick-up was abandoned on the far side of the road. They crashed into one another’s arms, just holding on to one another, and just for a moment, just for a split-second, she could pretend everything was as it should be.

“Charming,” she whispered, her fingers trembling against his cheek. 

He didn’t kiss her, and she knew in that moment that he remembered everything of this world just as she did, but he gathered her in his arms and held her close, and just for now, it would be enough.

She rested her head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

His hand cradled the back of her head tenderly. “We were cursed,” he said quietly. “This wasn’t you.”

They barely had a heartbeat before the ground started shaking beneath their feet, and Charming looked around wildly. “What the hell is that?” he exclaimed.

Snow blanched at the sight of a growing purple cloud pouring in from the woods. “There!”

Charming pulled her closer, dragging her down, and shielding her body with his own, as it crashed over them, dark and bitter and insubstantial as smoke. They were kneeling on the ground, holding onto one another as it slowly cleared. 

Her hands were trembling against his chest. They needed to have this conversation, but not now, not when their child was out there, and their grandson. “David, we need to find Emma,” she whispered. “Emma and Henry. Make sure they made it through okay.”

“Emma?” He drew back to look down at her, helping her to her feet. “That’s our Emma?”

She almost managed to smile. “All grown up,” she whispered. She reached up, touching his cheek. “She’s such a good girl, Charming. Such a good girl.”

Charming gazed down at her, and just for a moment, just for a heartbeat, she thought he might kiss her. She remembered that last day, when their child was still bloody in his arms. It was the last time she’d seen either of them, all those years ago.

The moment shattered like glass when someone cried out their names.

Ruby. No. Red. Red and Granny.

Snow hesitated, saw the way their eyes darted down to her belly, but neither of them said anything about it. They just hugged her and held her tightly, and it was good and right, and no one had to be hurt. 

“Your Majesty?”

Snow’s eyes filled with tears at the sight of Leroy and his brothers, and she stepped around Red, walking towards them. “Grumpy,” she whispered, holding out her hand to him.

He caught her fingers and tugged her closer, hugging her tight. “Whose ass do I need to kick for you, sister?” he asked in a growl. “Which son of a bitch did this to you?”

That was almost enough to make her break, as her brothers-in-arms gathered around her and added their arms to the embrace. 

“It’s okay,” she whispered. “Really, it’s okay.”

It was a lie and they all knew it.

“So it’s true.”

Snow spun around at the new voice.

Emma.

Emma was standing there, and Henry.

Snow couldn’t contain the sob, rushing towards them both and gathering them in her arms, daughter and grandson both, both alive, both well. “I couldn’t find you,” she whispered into Emma’s hair. “You were gone, and he was…” She pulled back, tears on her cheeks, and looked down at Henry. “You were dying.”

Henry beamed up at her. “She saved me,” he said.

“She saved all of us,” Charming murmured. He was close behind Snow, and she stepped aside, let him embrace their child. Emma looked uncertain, lost, and Snow could understand that. She was feeling it too.

Somehow, they found one another’s hands, holding on tightly to one another, as voices rose around them, discussing why they were still in Storybrooke, the smoke, the revelation from the Blue Fairy that magic had come, the curse, the Queen, and Snow couldn’t help feeling Charming was deliberately keeping his attention away from her. 

It hurt more than she thought it could, more than David betraying her, more than being locked up for a crime she didn’t commit.

She looked at Emma, tears on her face, and Emma squeezed her hand. 

“It’ll be okay,” she said in a low voice. “He just needs time.”

Snow nodded, holding her hand tightly. “I’m glad we have you back,” she whispered.

Emma looked down at their linked hands. “Never thought it’d be like this,” she confessed, both of them laughing unsteadily.

“Sheriff!”

Emma whipped around.

“Jiminy!” Snow exclaimed.

“Your Majesties,” the former cricket looked urgently between them. “You need to get to the Mayor’s house. They’re going after Regina! They’re going to kill her!”

Emma glanced at Snow. “You know I can’t let that happen,” she said quietly.

Snow nodded. “Go. Do what you have to. I’ll catch up.”

“I’m going with you,” Charming said.

Snow wasn’t surprised when the rest followed, though Grumpy hung back to walk with her at an easier pace.

“You really okay?”

Snow laughed sadly. “I’m pregnant with another man’s child,” she said. “My husband won’t even look at me.” She looked at Grumpy, her eyes bright. “This isn’t what I expected when they said the curse would be broken.”

Grumpy slung his arm around her shoulder. “We’ve gone through worse than this,” he said. 

“Worse than someone else’s child?”

He looked at her. “On a scale of one to glass coffin?” he said. “I think we’re still on the low end of the scale.”

Despite herself, Snow couldn’t help smiling.


	7. Chapter 7

The apartment felt crowded.

They had tried to find Gold, but there was no sign of him, and Mary Margaret was exhausted from being awake for nearly forty-eight hours. 

Regina was locked up. She was secure. She didn’t have access to her magic. They’d stopped the mob from killing her. It didn’t help that it was lead by Whale, who took one look at Snow, then another at her belly. His face went pale and strode away, his argument dead on his lips.

She didn’t know if she was relieved or disappointed that he was the same man he was under the curse, and right now, she was too tired to care.

Emma took charge. 

Gold could wait, she insisted, taking Snow by the arm. She didn’t let go of her until she was safely by the bed, as if she feared Snow might buckle and fall. Snow wasn’t sure that she wasn’t wrong. She felt drained of all energy, and she looked down blankly as Emma undid her boots and slid them off her feet. Henry brought over a glass of water, watching her anxiously.

Charming was still trying to take charge, doing everything in his power to keep himself so busy that he could avoid the talk about the baby that she was going to have. He was giving orders to the dwarves, but Grumpy stepped forward mutinously.

“Sorry, buddy,” he said. “We take orders from one person.” He nodded towards Snow.

“Snow’s… busy at the moment,” Charming said tersely.

Grumpy’s glower intensified. “Are you gonna treat the woman you claim to love like that?” he demanded, stepping closer to Charming, his eyes blazing. “You weren’t exactly Mr Virtue yourself under the curse.” He jabbed Charming in the middle of the chest. “You don’t get to play judge here.”

“Grumpy…” Snow protested wearily. “Leave it.”

“The hell I will, sister!” Grumpy exclaimed. “You were under a curse! It’s not like you asked for this to happen!”

Emma straightened up. “David, this isn’t helping.”

“So I’m meant to be happy?” Charming’s voice broke. “I’m meant to be happy that I wake up and my wife’s expecting another man’s baby?”

Snow ran her hand over her face, shaking. “Just stop!” she cried out, tears pouring down her face. “Please, just stop this!” She looked over at them, shaking her head. “The curse is broken. We’re together again. We should be happy.” Her throat burned and the sobs shook her. “We should be happy.”

Henry scrambled onto the bed beside her, hugging her tightly, and Emma crouched down in front of her, as the dwarves all swarmed over. The bed wasn’t going to take the weight, she thought, but she didn’t tell them to let go, as arms wrapped around her from all sides.

All arms but Charming’s.

He stood mutely at the end of the bed.

“What are you going to do?” Emma demanded hotly. “You’re meant to be the hero, the good guy. What the hell are you going to do now?”

Snow couldn’t face looking at him, not directly, but she could see his reflection. He looked as stricken as he had when her memory was stripped from her. He wanted to hold her, like he had in days gone by, he really did, but this was different. There was a child, and the child wasn’t his, and he would never ever, ever ask her to have it adopted or get rid of it, because he knew she couldn’t and wouldn’t. 

Children were precious, a gift, and she had wanted to be a mother for so long, and he knew it, and he knew his mother’s own regret at giving up one of her own children. He would never ask it of her, but it wasn’t his child. It would never be his child. It would be the child of the curse, and they would never forget it.

He would need time.

She would too.

The child was Mary Margaret’s legacy now.

Maybe Charming would have moved. Maybe he wouldn’t have.

It didn’t matter, when there was a crashing outside, and something bellowed in the street.

Emma was on her feet in an instant. “What the hell…?”

“Emma…” Charming began, and Snow recognised his battle face.

She nodded. “We’ll take care of this,” she said to Snow. “You stay put. Get some rest.”

Snow nodded wordlessly, grateful for Grumpy’s breadth against her back. She didn’t raised her head until Charming and Emma were gone.

“I should lie down,” she said quietly. “Get some sleep.”

The dwarves eased of the bed.

“We’ll go check on people,” Sleepy offered. “Make sure everyone’s okay.”

“Thank you,” Snow whispered, lying down.

Grumpy stood by the beside, looking critically at Henry. “How do you feel about guarding a sleeping Princess, junior?”

Henry looked worriedly at Snow. “Is that okay?”

Snow nodded, her lips trembling in a smile. “I could do with a cuddle buddy,” she said softly, offering him her arms. To her surprise, he kicked off his shoes and scrambled onto the bed to snuggle against her.

“I’ll look after you,” he whispered. 

She pressed her cheek to his hair. “I know you will.”

 

______________________________________

 

 

To her astonishment, Snow managed to sleep. 

There were dreams, it was true, but it seemed that she wasn’t the only one on that front. She and Henry both woke at the same time, crying out in alarm.

“H-Henry?” she whispered, propping herself up in the darkness, the silver of moonlight slanting through the window behind the bed. He stared at her wildly, as if he couldn’t remember where he was, then buried his face in her shoulder. 

Her own arms heavy with sleep, she drew him closer, holding him tightly. 

Someone had covered them over with a blanket and a glance around revealed Grumpy, asleep in the chair by the bed, his pick resting across his lap. 

“Bad dream?” Snow whispered.

Henry nodded, swallowing hard. “I was in a red room,” he whispered. “Walls of fire.”

Snow stared blindly into the darkness. “The sleeping curse,” she whispered. “I know that room.” She smoothed his head, drawing his head to rest on her shoulder. “We’ll see Mr Gold tomorrow. He might be able to help.” She kissed his brow gently. “You go back to sleep.”

“You too? Nightmare?” Henry’s voice was already muzzy with sleepiness. 

“Nothing serious,” she whispered, gently rolling him until his head was resting on the pillow instead of her shoulder. She tucked him up gently, then rose gracelessly from the other side of the bed, one hand braced against her back.

Nature called.

By the time she came back through from the bathroom, Grumpy was standing in the kitchen, a pan of milk warming on the stove.

“Figured you could use a drink,” he said, “and booze was off limits.”

She smiled crookedly. “Good call,” she said, hefting herself up onto the stool and rubbing her swollen belly. She looked down as the baby shifted, then up when Grumpy’s hand covered hers. He’d circled around from behind the counter, and he smiled briefly. “That’s one lucky kid you got in there.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” she said, drawing her hand from under his and guiding his hand on the bump. His expression turned wondering as he felt the flicker of movement. “They were as badly hit by the curse as the rest of us.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Grumpy murmured, meeting her eyes. “Whoever’s in there is going to have you for a mom. That’s a damned lucky kid.”

She turned on the stool and put her arms around him, hugging him hard. “Thank you.”

“Don’t get sentimental on me now, sister,” he said with a chuckle. “I didn’t get to be godpapa to little Miss Sheriff, so I got first dibs on this one.”

Snow smiled, truly smile, for the first time in what felt like days.

Grumpy returned to the milk, pouring them both a mug.

“Did you hear from… from Charming and Emma?”

Grumpy nodded. “Stiltskin did some weird magic,” he said. “Summoned up some magic beastie and sent it after Regina. Your Prince Chumps is off chasing it down with Emma. They said they’d come back straight after.”

Snow accepted the mug of milk. “Not straight away,” she murmured. “I think Emma wants to have a word with her father.”

Grumpy sat down on the stool beside her. “Does this word involve fists?” he asked hopefully.

“Grumpy,” Snow said reproachfully.

“What? He’s being an ass.”

Snow shook her head. “He’s in shock,” she said. “We both are.”

Grumpy snorted. “Doesn’t stop him being an ass,” he said. He propped his elbows on the breakfast bar, his hands wrapped around his mug. “He knows you’re not going to get rid of your kid, not ever.”

“Of course he does,” Snow murmured. “That’s the problem: whether he can live with knowing it’s my child and not his.”

Grumpy wrinkled his nose. “Easy question: does he love you? If he does, it shouldn’t be an issue because this sure as hell wasn’t your fault. If he doesn’t, then he’s an ass and I have a pick that should fit nicely into his head.”

“No killing my husband!”

“Not even a little bit?” Grumpy nudged her gently. “Can I at least shake him up a little?”

Snow was about to protest, but stopped herself. “Maybe a little,” she said. “If he doesn’t speak to me in the next twenty-four hours.” 

Grumpy looked mollified, and nudged her again fondly. “Drink up,” he said. “You need to get some more sleep. Junior two isn’t going to grow itself.”

She pulled a face but retreated back to the bed. To her surprise, she slept peacefully the rest of the night. She knew it was mostly down to absolute exhaustion, but she let Grumpy take credit with his warm milk, especially when he had breakfast waiting for them. He wasn't the best cook out of the dwarves, but he was the one who knew what she would be wanting, and a big plate of sticky waffles was exactly that.

"I'm going to be the size of a house," she informed him and Henry, as they sat down to breakfast together. 

Grumpy made his usual mocking remark, and Henry started laughing. It felt nice, but she couldn't help noticing that Charming and Emma still weren't back. When magic was involved, she tended to be paranoid.

"Grumpy..."

He offered her a quick smile. "On their way," he said. "Said there were a few problems they had to take care of."

Snow lapsed back into silence, eating her breakfast.

"So what happens now?" Henry asked. "I mean, the curse is broken."

"God knows, kid," Grumpy said, pouring himself a coffee. "We figured we'd be home, but here we are."

Henry mulled over his breakfast. "So you're really a dwarf, huh?"

"Yup." Grumpy studied him. "And you're Snow's grandkid, huh?" 

Henry looked at Snow with a shy smile. "Yeah," he said. He leaned closer and looked down at Snow's bump. "So that's my aunt or uncle in there?"

Snow looked down. "I hadn't even thought of that," she said, dazed by his ready acceptance. Maybe he didn't really understand what was going on. But maybe he did. He was a smart kid.

"I'd like that," Henry said. "I never had an aunt or uncle before."

"You've got seven uncles now, kid," Grumpy said gruffly. 

Henry's face lit up.

Snow watched him devour the rest of his breakfast fondly. He was a good boy. He'd spoken out in defence of Regina, in spite of everything, and like Snow, he saw the mother in her that Regina tried so hard to be. In many ways, he reminded her of herself, a child forced to grow up to soon, and all too aware of just who he was living with.

He and Grumpy gathered up the dishes to clear them away once they were done, and Snow was ordered to go and rest on her bed. Grumpy's glower was so stern that she complied at once, grateful for the extended respite. Despite all her rest, she still felt exhausted, and not just physically.

She lay back against the pillows, her eyes closed, and listened to them talking quietly.

It wasn't long before the front door opened.

Snow's eyes remained closed, but she felt her heartbeat quicken when someone spoke.

"Can you guys give us a moment?"

Charming.

Henry pattered across and took his things, but Snow kept her eyes closed and listened hard.

"You hurt her, buddy," Grumpy said, his low, gravelly whisper not quite quiet enough to go unheard, "and I'll give you a demonstration of how to smash a diamond. With your kneecaps."

Whatever Charming said was too low for her to hear, but it must have satisfied Grumpy, because the door closed, and she heard footsteps approaching the bed. Charming had never sounded so hesitant around her. She opened her eyes and looked up at him, exclaiming in shock.

"Your face!"

Charming self-consciously touched his left cheek. It was swollen up and bruised. "Yeah," he said ruefully. "Don't upset our daughter. She has one hell of a right hook."

"Emma hit you?" Snow said, dazed.

He nodded. "We had a chat," he said. "A very emphatic chat. About the way I behaved yesterday."

Snow pushed herself up into a sitting position, shoving pillows up behind her aching back. "Oh?" she said carefully.

Charming hesitated. "Can I sit down?"

Snow tugged at the edge of her blouse. "If you want."

He sat down on the edge of the bed, not quite facing her. "How are you?" he asked awkwardly.

She folded her hands beneath her belly. "Scared," she said frankly. She looked down at the bump, unable to meet his eyes. "This wasn't what I was expecting. I thought we would be exactly as we were." She took a shaking breath. "This wasn't what I wanted, you know that."

Charming nodded slowly. "Emma told me that it was one night," he said quietly. "An accident."

She laughed brokenly. "It was," she whispered. "But you have to deal with the consequences." She forced herself to look up at him. "You're lucky it isn't more complicated," she said quietly. "Kathryn thought she was pregnant too. Did you know about that?"

Charming. No. David nodded. For a moment, he was David Nolan again. "Emma reminded me that I was married here," he said. "The curse messed us all up." He was looking down at his hands in his lap. "I'm sorry." 

She watched his profile. "For what?"

He looked at her. "For not knowing how to deal with this." He held out his hand to her uncertainly, and she took it at once, relief flooding through her. His fingers curled around hers, holding onto her tightly. 

"You're not the only one," she whispered. "You know why I had to keep it, Charming."

"Of course I know," he said, his thumb running in a circle on the back of her hand. He met her eyes. "What do we do, Snow? How do we do this?"

She shook her head. "I don't know," she said softly. "But please don't leave me alone with this, Charming. I can't do this without you."

He lifted her hand up, kissing the back of her hand. "I'll try," he said. "It's your baby, after all. Anything that comes from you, how could I not find some way to love it?"

Snow's throat burned and she tugged on his hand, pulling him closer, wrapping her arms around him tightly. He held her just as close, stroking a hand over her hair. They sat for a long while, just holding each other.

"What happened last night?" she murmured.

Charming shook his head. "I don't even really know," he said. "Gold sent some kind of wraith after Regina. We managed to get rid of it through some magic hat." He shook his head again. "It was a weird night." He drew back to look at her. "Regina's back in jail and Emma wants to keep her safe for Henry's sake."

"Deja vu?" she said with a small, tired smile.

"And then some," he agreed. "All she gets from me is her right hook, and I'm not even sure about that."

Snow swatted his arm. "She's more like you than you know," she said. "She's just... wary about showing her hand. Spend some time with her. Get to know her like I do."

He dropped his hand to hold hers again. "I think I made a bad first impression," he admitted. "Both sides that she saw of me."

"She'll get to know you better," Snow demurred quietly. "I did, after all." She slipped her fingers between his, watching the way they folded together. "I love you, Charming."

"I know," he said just as quietly. "I love you too."

She gazed at their hands for a moment, then drew them up. She rested his hand with hers over her belly. She could feel him trembling, but he didn't pull away. It was a lot to ask of a man who had been one of a pair of traded children, to know how much he longed for a family, how much it must hurt to know this one wasn't his, at least by blood.

"How is it?" he asked finally, his palm warm through her blouse. "The... the baby?"

"Well," she replied. "Good size. Healthy, from what they can tell. I'm almost at twenty-four weeks." There was a flicker of movement, and Charming caught his breath. Snow's lips twitched in a rueful smile. "And lively. Very lively."

She could feel the hesitation before he asked, "Like its father?"

She shook her head. "I don't know," she answered honestly. "He practically ran after I told him and since the curse broke, he hasn't come around." She shrugged, watching Charming's hand move in gentle circles on her belly. "He didn't want to be around then. He hasn't shown any interest now. I guess he doesn't want to be a father."

Charming's hand stilled. "Every kid deserves a father," he said quietly. 

Snow nodded. "I know it's not going to be easy," she said, raising her eyes to his. "Everything's a mess."

"We'll get through it," he said, his fingers overlapping with hers. "We always do, together."

She nodded, then leaned closer and wrapped her arms around him again, just letting him hold her up for a little while. For once, it was a relief not to have to pretend or to be strong. For once, it was a relief to let him - David or Charming or whoever - to take care of her.


	8. Chapter 8

They spent the day checking on friends around town, and finding out what the worst of the damage was. Henry was spending time with the dwarves, digging out bits and pieces of everyone’s old lives from stores and hidden backrooms of houses, so Emma, Snow and Charming were taking care of main street.

The wraith had done a number, bringing down power lines and wrecking cars. David and Emma heard pounding from inside one of them and dragged open the door to reveal a very familiar face.

“Jefferson!”

The madman from the house out of town stared warily at them. “Is this a bad time to tell you I was right?” he asked, edging sideways away from Emma.

She caught him by the scarf, pulling him closer. “You go, find your kid,” she said. “And if you still want that damn hat of yours, it’s in City Hall. I don’t want to see it or you hanging around again, are we clear?”

Jefferson nodded wildly, backing away from her. He bent and snatched up a stuffed rabbit and a boxed up teaset, fleeing as fast as he could.

“What was that about?” Charming asked. 

“It’s not often that you rescue your abductor,” Emma said, looking around. “Are we going to get on with this?”

“Abductor?” Charming echoed.

Emma ignored him. She was already moving on to the next car, checking it.

“Snow? What did she mean abductor?”

Snow rubbed the back of her neck self-consciously. “Well, I tried to escape, after you asked me if I did anything to Kathryn,” she said sheepishly. “Jefferson took me hostage in the woods. He wanted to force Emma to do magic for him.” She saw the furious fire in his eyes and caught his arm before he could go more than a step. “Charming, he just wanted to get his little girl back!”

He looked at her, shaking his head. “I feel like I’ve done everything wrong,” he said unhappily. “For you. For Emma. For our family. I wasn’t there to help you. I should have left Kathryn, made you let me in.”

She smiled sadly, lifting her hand to touch his cheek. “That was the curse,” she said softly. “If you’d tried, something else would have come between us. It was there to keep us apart. I don’t think fighting it would have helped.”

“It doesn’t stop me wishing I’d tried,” Charming said, holding her hand against his cheek.

Snow could feel Emma’s eyes on them, but kept her own focus on Charming. Her daughter needed to see what she saw in her husband, and why she would let him close. “We’re back together now. That’s what matters.”

His smile was almost but not quite convincing, and he headed onwards.

Snow remained where she was, rubbing at her back. Being on her feet was starting to feel like hard work, but she didn’t want to retreat to the apartment again, not when it felt like that all that she was doing. 

There was so much to be done, and she knew Charming and Emma would both fret if she tried to get involved in the heavy lifting or moving things. So much needed taken care of, so many people needed to find their loved ones.

Snow bit her lip. “Emma,” she called. “I’m going to take a walk, okay?”

“You okay?” Emma asked, hurrying over.

Snow nodded. “Yeah,” she said. “There’s just something I need to check on.”

Emma searched her face, then nodded. “If you get tired,” she warned, “you have to take a break.”

Snow’s lips twitched. “Yes, mom,” she teased, earning a puzzled blush from her daughter. She touched Emma’s arm. “Make sure and keep Charming out of trouble for me? I just got him back. I don’t want him wandering off and falling in a river again.”

“Does that happen often?” Emma asked ruefully. 

Snow couldn’t help laughing. “More often than you’d think,” she admitted.

Emma glanced over at him reluctantly. “As long as he doesn’t come across all Captain Jackass on me again, we’ll be fine.”

Snow waved her back in the direction of her father, then headed off in the opposite direction. She knew both husband and daughter would try and dissuade her from her course of action, and that was exactly why she didn’t tell them where she was going.

She made her way to the Sheriff’s station.

Only weeks earlier, she was the one sitting in the cell, being bullied and harassed by the Mayor, and now, Regina was sitting grimly on the bunk. She was pale, her face sheened with sweat, as if she had been trying to fight her way free.

“Regina,” Snow murmured.

Regina rose from the bunk, turning with a cold expression. “Well, if it isn’t little Miss Pure as Driven-on Snow,” she said, folding her arms tight over her chest.

Snow approached the cell. “Aren’t you ready to stop all this?” she asked. “You cast your curse and you didn’t get what you wanted. Why don’t you just stop?”

Regina looked at her in disbelief. “You think you have the right to lecture me?”

Snow shrugged. “I’m offering you some advice,” she said. “You have a son, Regina. A son who wants you safe and happy. Isn’t that worth something to you?”

Regina eyed her with suspicion. “He’s not mine. Emma made that clear.”

“He’s not all Emma’s either,” Snow said with a sigh. “Regina, you can’t tie yourself to just one person to yourself your whole life, and expect that person to do the same for you. You have to let other people in too.”

“Like you?” The Queen sneered. “Yes. Because that worked so well for me the last time.”

Snow sat back on the edge of the desk, resting her hand on her belly. “And this?” she asked quietly. “How is this helping? You’re alone. People are terrified of you. Except Henry.” She paused, then added quietly, “And me.”

That seemed to catch Regina off-balance. “You were.”

Snow shook her head. “You were my mother, Regina,” she said quietly. “As much as my birth mother, you were my mother. Even after everything you did, I wasn’t afraid of you. I was… upset, confused, hurt, but never afraid.” She smoothed her blouse over her belly. “You cared so much. I could never forget that, no matter how much you dressed yourself up and painted your face.”

Regina’s eyes narrowed. “What do you want?”

Snow sighed. “I want peace. I want Henry to be happy and loved by the women he calls mom. I want to have just five minutes when I’m not having to fight against your need for vengeance for a mistake a child made decades ago.” She pushed off from the desk and approached the bars. “I want you to be happy, Regina. Like you were back then.”

“That’s impossible,” Regina’s voice broke. “How can I be happy when Daniel is dead?”

“I don’t know,” Snow said quietly. “But this is a new world. You have a son who loves you so much, Regina. He has such a big heart, and he loves you. Isn’t that a start? Someone who loves you in spite of everything?”

“Like you could know what that feels like,” Regina snapped.

Snow smiled. “I do,” she said. She put her hand on her belly. “Thank to you and your curse, I didn’t see my child grow up, and when she found me, she believed I had abandoned her for her whole life. Instead, I was here, in your little cage, until she found us, angry and hating and alone. And just when things could have started going right, this…” She patted her belly. “You know how hard Charming and I fought for one another, and now, in spite of everything, I’m having another man’s child.”

“How is that the same?” Regina demanded. “You still have him!”

“And every time he looks at this child I’m carrying, he’ll know I slept with someone else,” Snow replied. “Even if he tries not to. Even if he loves this child as if it was his own, nothing is going to change the fact that I had another man’s baby. Do you think it’s going to be the same for me? For him? Do you think either of us is going to forget?”

Regina’s knuckles were white, her hands gripping her upper arms. “It’s not the same.”

“No,” Snow said quietly, “it’s not. But you’ve done what you wanted. You’ve taken what would have been my happy ending and poisoned it. There’s no undoing the scars.” Her hand pressed to her belly. She didn’t know if the flutters were her own nerves, or whether the baby was picking up on her anxiety. “Isn’t that enough?”

Regina shook her head. “It’ll never be enough.”

Snow sighed, drawing back. “I’m trying, Regina,” she said wearily. “For your sake as well as Henry’s. You could be happy, if you would just take the chance.” She leaned on the desk for a moment, a wave of dizziness washing over her. She gathered herself, taking a breath. “I can’t help you if you won’t let me.”

“I never ask you to.”

“No,” Snow agreed quietly, making her way to the door. “You didn’t.” She paused and looked over her shoulder. “I miss you, Regina. I miss who you were.” Her eyes were stinging with tears she refused to let fall. “I miss my little mother.”

She turned away and made it through the doors, before sinking down to sit against the wall, burying her face in shaking hands. She couldn’t weep anymore than she already had for the woman she had once known, but it didn’t make it hurt any less to see the woman she saw as her mother still looking at her with such hate.

 

_________________________________________

 

Hours turned to days, and little by little, Storybrooke started to pick itself up again.

There were new revelations with each day. Sneezy braved the town line, only to learn to his cost that they were still trapped within it. The dwarves set to work mining, seeking any kind of fairy dust that might help him.

Rumpelstiltskin was called on for aid, and despite his misgivings, Emma spoke softly and Charming spoke less softly, and eventually he conceded that he would look into some way to break the new curse. He also made the Mayor’s house secure, which meant Regina could be moved from jail to house arrest instead, which felt more humane than bars.

Snow, meanwhile, was trying to put together the pieces of her family again. 

Emma was still suspicious of Charming. She had seen too much of the would-be adulterer and the man who ran away from his pregnant wife to be sympathetic, and Snow wondered - not for the first time - just how bad Emma’s life had been to doubt men so readily.

Still, they were talking at least.

Harassing Rumpelstiltskin seemed to bring them together, as did trying to find a solution to the problems of a town running in panicked circles, with magic available, and the Evil Queen and Rumpelstiltskin both trapped inside with them.

For the most part, though, Rumpelstiltskin seemed to be occupied with breaking through the curse that still closed them in, and most of Emma and Charming’s work was simply keeping on top of the little problems, helping to find lost family members, and ensuring that cabin fever didn’t bring people down.

Snow went back to school, partly to keep an eye on Henry and partly because she knew the kids would need routine. It would make it easier for them, rather than worrying along with their parents. 

She made sure the family would have scheduled dinners in the evening. It was better when they were all together, even if the meals were sometimes still stilted and awkward. It would take time, she knew, but she had hopes that one day they could be happy enough together.

It was just over a fortnight after the curse was broken that their dinner was interrupted.

Emma shoved her chair back. “I’ll get it,” she said.

“If it was serious, they could call the station,” Snow said, shaking her head. “There’s no reason to interrupt people at home.”

“You know that’s not how people work,” Emma said with a snort. She strode over to the door, pulling it open. The door blocked the view from the table, but Emma stepped back in surprise. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I need to see Mary Margaret.”

Snow set down her glass, her fingers suddenly numb. Whale. 

Emma glanced over her shoulder, frowning. “I don’t think she wants to see you, Whale.”

“Please.” He sounded quiet, subdued, unlike the man she knew. “I need to speak to her.”

Snow nodded slowly, and Emma let the doctor in. He looked like hell, drawn and haggard. His eyes were bloodshot, and he looked exhausted.

Charming stood up. “Whale, she can’t tell you anymore about getting home than I can,” he said.

“I know that,” Whale said, without looking away from Snow. “Mary Margaret, may I speak to you? Privately?”

“What’s so important…” Charming began, but his words trailed off and Snow couldn’t even dare to look at him. 

Emma circled around behind Whale to approach her father. “We’ll put some dinner aside for you, Mary Margaret,” she said quietly. “Take as long as you need.”

“What’s going on?” Henry asked.

“Hospital-stuff, kid,” Emma said, as Mary Margaret picked up her coat in unsteady hands and put it on.

“Is something wrong with the baby?” Henry’s voice carried after them, as Snow ushered Whale back out into the hall. 

They made their way down the stairs in silence, and walked out into the quiet darkness of the evening. Storybrooke was quietest after nightfall. Too many fairytales come to life, stories of monsters and wolves and goblins.

Snow slipped her hands in her pockets. “I didn’t think I was going to see you again,” she said quietly, as they walked along the sidewalk.

“If it was possible, you wouldn’t,” he confessed. He took a breath. “Were you telling the truth? About the baby? Is it… is it my child?”

Snow nodded, her tongue darting along her lips. “I keep wondering if it’s possible to blame the curse for the condom breaking,” she said. “You were the only person who came anywhere near me after Emma arrived in town.”

He turned his face up towards the sky. “I hoped you’d been seeing David,” he said. “If I could believe it was his, then I wouldn’t have wronged you.”

Snow hesitated, then touched his arm. “You didn’t wrong me,” she said. “We were both cursed. Maybe we both made a mistake while it was in place, but that wasn’t you anymore than it was me.”

“You’re a married woman, Mary Margaret,” he said, shaking his head. “A decent woman. I would never have…” He rubbed his brow with one hand. “I’ve spent days trying to persuade myself you had to be wrong. That it wasn’t mine. That I’m not going to be…” He caught his breath, swallowing hard. “I’m not what you would call a good man. Not good father material. I hoped it wasn’t mine, because my life has a… pattern. An unfortunate pattern.”

Her hand was still resting on his arm. “Why?” she asked. “Who are you, Whale?”

He smiled unsteadily, and bowed stiffly at the waist. “Doctor Victor Frankenstein.”

Snow stared at him. “The Frankenstein?”

“Ah.” He straightened up. “You’ve heard of me.”

She held out her hand. “I think we should be reintroduced,” she said. “Snow White.”

Frankenstein shook her hand, a wan smile touching his lips. “I can’t help feeling we’re dealing with matters in a backwards way,” he said. His eyes flicked down to her belly. “I never intended to cause you these problems.”

“I know,” she said, putting her hands back in her pockets. She breathed out slowly, the air misting before her. “But it is what it is. This child is still going to be my child, no matter their origins. Mary Margaret wanted to keep it, and so do I.” She hesitated for a moment. “You don’t need to be involved. I mean, if you don’t want to. There’s no obligation.”

He looked shocked. “But I can’t just abandon my responsibilities,” he protested. “I’ve been forced to do that too many times now.” He stepped closer. “Please. I know we mean nothing to one another, but I’d like to have some part in my child’s life. Even if it’s only at a distance.”

They gazed at one another for a moment.

“Walk with me,” Snow murmured.

Frankenstein fell into step beside her.

“I know I have no right to ask,” he admitted, “especially when you know who I am. What I was in another lifetime.”

“You wanted to create life,” Snow murmured. Despite herself, her lips twitched and she knocked her elbow against his. “Well done. You did it. You’re so good at it, you managed to do it through a condom.”

To her surprise and a little amusement, Frankenstein flushed. “That is- I mean, not quite like that.”

Snow smiled briefly. “I know,” she said. “Science over nature. I read the novel.”

“I was trying to fight death,” he confessed. “When it all went awry, it went badly, and I tried to save my brother.” He shook his head. “Death begets death. I thought I could save him, but science is like magic. There’s always a cost.”

“And I was trying to stop Regina from losing her mother,” Snow murmured, “and in the end, lost my father.” She hesitated, then slipped her arm through his, earning a puzzled look. “We never know what consequence our actions will have. Even if we could see the future, I’m sure it would find some way to surprise us.”

“Yes,” he agreed, as they continued their circuit of the block. “Frankenstein and Snow White having a child. Who would have thought?” They were silent for a few steps. “What does your husband want to do about it?”

“It’s my child,” Snow said simply. “If he couldn’t accept it, then he wouldn’t be accepting me.” She smiled briefly, bittersweet. “He’ll be a father to it, whoever it turns out to be.” She looked at the man on her arm. “If you want to be involved, I won’t stop you, Victor. I know how precious children are.”

“I don’t,” he said simply. “I never intended to have any. I never wanted to.” They turned a corner. “My work was my life, and now, I’m in a world where my advances would be considered childish experimentation, stranded far from my family, my brother, those who depended on me, and now… a child.”

She drew him to a halt, and waited until he turned to face her. “If there’s no way back,” she said, “consider it a fresh start? A chance to be something new? Change the pattern?”

Victor Frankenstein smiled, a brief, sad turn of his lips. “Maybe,” he said. He released a shivering breath. “Does it make it better?”

Snow looked up at him, then undid her coat. “Give me your hand,” she said.

He eyed her uncertainly, but did so, and she pressed his palm to the spot where their child was doing its best to break free. He stared sightlessly down at his hand, and his lips parted, but he didn’t speak or even make a sound.

“It makes it better,” she said quietly.


End file.
